Love Me Dead
by KuroRiya
Summary: JeanMarco week prompts, ratings vary chapter to chapter, prompt listed at the top. No one is like the other, and they don't relate to each other. Check each chapter for a warning if necessary.
1. Guitars

Prompt: AU where they're in a band, but Marco gets stage fright before their first big show and Jean gets to encourage him and say how super talented he is and the crowd will love him and his adorable-ness?

His bass was perfectly tuned, polished, shiny, ready for the show. Jean had made him some hot tea to sooth his throat, and it left him feeling warm and loose. He'd practiced all of the songs, knew them inside and out, could play them backwards and sing them in at least two different languages. And yet his heart was hammering in his chest, fluttering like twenty birds shoved into one cage and trying to escape. Practicing in Eren's garage was a lot different than playing in front of a huge crowd.

So, maybe the local club wasn't exactly a huge venue, but it was a venue, with a crowd, and god, Marco was absolutely petrified. He couldn't understand how Eren was simply munching away on some hot Cheetos, Armin chancing one every few minutes, drinking from a bottle of water after every bite. And Jean, currently on his acoustic, just strumming away, humming softly to himself. How could they do that?

Marco tried to tell himself to calm down, that everything was going to be fine, that the set would be great. He reached for what was left of the tea, miscalculating how much remained. He thought it was a small enough amount that he could take it all in one drink, but he was mistaken, and the tea messily dribbled down his shirt, leaving dark patches. After quickly glancing around to make sure no one had seen his embarrassing display, Marco got up and scurried to the small bathroom, trying to dab the stains out of his shirt, to no avail. It brought a frown to his face; He wasn't going for the 'sloppy rocker' look. A creaky door startled him, and his head whipped around, eyes landing on a familiar face.

"Marco, what are you doing?" Jean asked, walking over to the sink and glancing at the damage Marco had done. He rolled his eyes, holding his arm out. A new shirt was draped over it, one of Jean's, but it didn't matter, it was better than a stained one. Marco quickly switched, tossing his original shirt into the sink while he pulled the new one over his head.

"Thank you, Jean." He said quietly, offering a small smile. He tried to make it look casual, normal, but it shook a bit, giving away his nervousness.

"Hey, calm down. You've played for an audience before." Jean pointed out, heading back to the backstage area, Marco following behind.

"Y-Yeah, but it was just at your Halloween party! That hardly even counts! And they were all drunk!" Marco replied, wringing his fingers together.

"Dude, we're at a club, do you think anyone is sober?" Jean wondered, opening the door and leading the way inside. Eren and Armin each offered quick acknowledgments before returning to their respective instruments. Marco realised that it must be getting close to time, since they were both fine tuning. He glanced toward his bass, knowing it was already tuned, but wondering if he should check again anyway. But before he had a chance, Jean led him over to a chair, sitting down opposite him.

"Alright babe, come on, talk to me. What's eating you up?" He demanded, and Marco swallowed harshly. He thought about it a moment before offering an answer.

"I just... What if I mess up? It wouldn't be such a disaster on the bass, but since I'm singing too... And what if I forget the words? That's happened before, you know. Remember? And I just kind of made awkward noises into the mic for a whole minute? What if I do that again? This is our big chance, and if I mess it up... God, I don't know if I could live with myself if I screwed this up for all of you!" He gushed, his fingers tangling up in his shirt as he spoke. Jean reached over, removing his hands from the shirt and setting them to rest in his lap instead.

"Breathe Marco." He commanded, not releasing the wrists he'd grabbed. Marco did as he was told, inhaling deeply and letting it out slowly. "You get so stupid when you get nervous." Jean mused, rubbing circles absently against the clammy skin. Marco looked up at him, his expression so pathetic that even Jean couldn't help but sputter. "S-Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I just... I hate seeing you so insecure. I know I've told you too many times, but you're so fucking talented. Do you even realise that this band wouldn't even exist without you? Even if one of us had come up with the idea, I would have killed Jaeger before we could even write the first note." He joked, managing to get Marco's lips tugging up in to a faint smile. He was only half-joking, but his boyfriend didn't need to know that.

"Not to mention how much relies on you. Do you think any of us could write music without you? You know your way around melodies and our instruments better than we do. And your lyrics? You could have been a poet." He continued. Marco's cheeks began reddening at the compliments, though he opted to let Jean finish his little speech. It was rare that the younger male expressed himself verbally, so it was something he never interrupted. "And yeah, you messed up that one time, but no one really cared. Your little noises were freaking adorable." He pointed out. Marco rolled his eyes.

"I think you're the only who thought so, but thanks." He snarked, accepting a small kiss to his cheek. Jean pulled back to look at him fully, just staring for a while, counting freckles on flushed cheeks.

"They're going to love you, you seriously have nothing to worry about. And if they don't love you, I'll kick their sorry, tasteless asses. So just calm down. You're going to be great." Jean promised, leaning in for a real kiss. Marco couldn't help but smile into the affection, returning the kiss, albeit a little shakily.

"Sorry Jean, I didn't mean to freak out. But I'm still nervous." He admitted, and Jean pursed his lips. He thought for a moment, then pulled back, reaching for his acoustic. Marco watched as he strummed a few random notes to make sure it was in tune, then he began playing a soft melody. It was familiar, though Marco knew it wasn't one of theirs. After wracking his brain for few seconds, he remembered the words, and began singing along.

_...How easy it would be to show me how you feel_

_More than words is all you have to do to make it real_

_Then you wouldn't have to say that you love me_

_Cause I'd already know_

_What would you do if my heart was torn in two  
More than words to show you feel that your love for me is real_

_What would you say if I took those words away_

_Then you couldn't make things new just by saying 'I love you'  
More than words..._

"You know, I think this was the song you were playing when I decided we should make a band." Marco recalled. Jean continued to play despite Marco not singing.

"Yeah? It's one of my favorites. It kind of suits me, since I'm bad at putting shit in words." He mused, letting his melody trail off. Marco laughed, leaning forward and pressing his forehead to Jean's.

"Believe me, I know. But thank you Jean, I feel a lot better now." He admitted, noting the way his heart had slowed to match the pace of the song, slow and languid. He was glad for Jean's presence, pushing the guitar out of the way so he could straddle the other boy's lap. Jean put his instrument down, using his hands to grab at bony hips instead. But Marco stole one of the hands, bringing it to his chest and pressing it to the spot where his heart beat strongest. He wanted to show that he was telling the truth about his waning nervousness.

"Ah, good." Jean remarked, but his lips curled into a smirk, his hand sliding back down to the other teen's hip again, leaning in close enough that his breath fell against his ear. "But let's see if I can't get it racing again." He rasped, Marco's face immediately going red. He had no chance to prepare himself when Jean's lips crashed against his own, the hands on his hips the only thing steadying him and keeping him from toppling over backwards.

"J-Jean!" He gasped when he was allowed a moment to breathe, looking at the other scathingly. The one in question paid him no mind at all though, diving back in for another kiss. Marco didn't have the heart to deny him it either, so he decided instead to indulge. It was his first big show, why not? His head was spinning before he could even think of the other two boys in the room, but they didn't miss the makeout session in the corner.

"Jesus, get a room you homos!" Eren yelled, unnecessarily, for there was no one else in the room, and it was not noisy inside. Marco yelped, but Jean wouldn't let him go, flashing the bird in Eren's direction, and pulling away just long enough to retort.

"Like you can even talk, Jaeger. How'd Armin like that Cheetos kiss?" He wondered, Eren sputtering in indignation. Marco could practically feel the tension rising, but had no idea how to quell the argument. Thankfully, Armin took care of that.

"That's enough you two, it's time to go to the stage. We've only got twenty minutes before we start, and we still have to set up." He announced, already unhooking his keyboard so he could cart it out to the stage. Marco breathed a sigh of relief as Eren backed off with naught but a little grumbling, helping his boyfriend carry the instrument out of the room. He watched them go, then turned back to Jean, who was still looking a little miffed.

"Hey, come on, we should help too. Eren can't get those drums moving by himself." Marco suggested, stealing a couple more kisses before extracting himself from the other's lap. Jean's spirits seemed to lift from the affection, and he stood, grabbing his electric and some cords, waiting for Marco to fill his hands as well. They both left the room, passing Eren and Armin on their way back, promising to help with the drum set upon their return. They had to go through a door to get to the wings of the stage, and Jean politely held it open while Marco scurried through, putting his bass down and then taking a moment to peek out at the crowd. His stomach dropped when he saw the size. It was a lot more people than he had anticipated, and his nerves were lighting all over again.

Jean noticed the way the taller male's frame had frozen, looking very stiff, and frowned, coming to stand next to him. He glanced out to the crowd as well, pleased with the turnout. But he had other things to attend to at the moment.

"Marco, you're freaking out again." He pointed out. Marco snapped his head to look in Jean's direction.

"N-No I'm not. I'm just... Uh... L-Looking to see if anyone we know came..." He mumbled, knowing that Jean didn't believe a word of it.

"Uh-huh. We just talked about this. It's going to be fine. Great! So just chill out." He commanded, grabbing for the older teen's hand. Marco forced himself to breathe again, trying a smile. "And hey, if all else fails, imagine them naked." Jean suggested, earning a snort and some muffled laughter from the other. "Seriously, I know you can do it. Just believe in yourself a little." He finished, pulling the taller behind him as they headed back to the room they'd been staying in.

Marco couldn't think of what to say. He had very little self confidence, if he was being honest. He was pretty outgoing, sure, but he still worried what people thought of him. And he had the tendency to crack under pressure. So something as important as this? It was terrifying. He wished he could share Jean's feelings on the matter, but he simply couldn't. He was brought back by Jean's voice again.

"And if you can't, just remember that I do."

And Marco's heart fluttered, but for completely different reasons. And when they walked onto the stage seventeen minutes later, he didn't forget the lyrics, and he remembered to strum, and the audience screamed for an encore, and some shady looking guy in a fedora gave him his card. Armin and Eren bought them all a round, and Jean managed to get along well enough with Eren that no furniture was broken. And, when they finally called it a night and piled into the van to head home, Jean leaned over and gave him a kiss.

"I told you, you did great." He mumbled, putting the van in gear and heading home. "But, uh, next time you might want to keep your shirt on." He added quietly. Marco raised a brow, looking over at his boyfriend.

"Why's that?" He wondered. It took Jean a long time to respond.

"You made me nervous."

A/N: First prompt fill of the week! I'm going to use this one as my theme fill for the day too! I almost didn't make it, 12 is looming ever closer! I had to work today though, and unfortunately I must put work before prompt fills. But I just made it, so woot woot. Let JeanMarco week commence! This one was, thankfully, pretty sweet, nothing sad here. But I'm sure there are sad things to come. (Freckled Jesus, save my soul.)  
So, I have my reasons for everyone's instruments. Marco is a pretty laid back guy, probably wouldn't like to dominate the music, so I felt the bass just kind of suited him. Armin strikes me as the type to have taken piano lessons from a young age, and kind of rebelling when he got bored with Chopin. Jean likes to be the center of attention, likes to show off, thus guitar. And Eren is aggressive as fuck, hence the drums.  
Anyway, prompts are open for JeanMarco week. But I can do them here too, if anyone is interested. Just leave the prompt as a review, or you can PM me with it, and I'll fill it. Please specify if you want it to be NSFW or not. If you don't mention it, I'll assume that it's supposed to be PG-13. Those are pretty much my only rules, I'm up for anything, don't be scared to ask! Happy JeanMarco week, my equally emotionally wrecked friends. Hope to see you soon!


	2. Forever

Prompt: I want death, but not the sappy stuff. I want Marco to miraculously come back from the dead to be with Jean, and Jean's all happy, until Marco brutally slaughters Jean and then dies again and THAT is what Marco meant by together forever. Do whatever else you want with it. Add onto it, mix it up, change the roles, I don't even care. I just want something freaky and wtf worthy.

It was, truly, a miracle. His having been dead aside, Marco was missing half of his face and the right side of his torso. There was no way that he could survive an injury like that, and he hadn't. Jean could see his ribs poking out, the sight should have been disturbing. But Marco's one remaining eye, warm and chocolate brown, chased away all of the sense the teen could have hoped to retain. Ignoring the way his stomach lurched at the gore, he wrapped his arms around the other, drawing him close and breathing him in.

He smelled different. There was still the earthy, dirt-like smell, but it was mangled by something a lot more bitter. But it didn't matter, because it was Marco, and somehow he was there, standing, breathing, if only shallowly. Jean couldn't even speak, couldn't think, couldn't be embarrassed about the tears falling from his eyes and on to the other male's shoulder. Marco's left arm came around to hold him as well, the embrace almost crushing despite having only one of his arms. Jean wondered somewhere in the back of his mind when Marco had gotten so strong.

For several minutes, all Jean could do was stutter and cry, nothing comprehensible passing his lips. Words escaped him, and no combination of them seemed appropriate to say what he meant. There were so many things he wanted to ask, wanted to relate. He wanted to tell Marco how precious he'd become since his death, how much he'd inspired Jean, how strong he'd made him. Without Marco, Jean would have joined the Military Police, would be living an easy life, oblivious to the wonders of the world, to the hope of a new life. Without Marco, Jean would never have known love, or heartbreak.

But he couldn't verbalize any of it. Speaking his feelings had never been a talent of Jean's. Though he was blunt and honest, to a fault, he was unable to open himself up to others.

Thankfully, Marco was very adept at reading Jean's expressions, and somehow seemed to make sense of all the babbling, for the left side of his lips pulled into a small smile. It made Jean gulp, the missing half sending chills down his spine, the left soothing his fears. It was a strange juxtaposition, unsettling. It made Jean's stomach hurt, yet his heart fluttered. And still, he couldn't make words, couldn't speak his feelings, the ones he'd wished he could tell Marco since the day he'd found him dead.

Marco leaned forward, his hand sliding up to grasp at Jean's jaw instead of his waist, holding him in place while he pressed a kiss to his lips. Jean's eyes widened, and he tried to back off, but Marco quickly grabbed him again, forcing him to stay put. It made him feel sick, for only half of the lips kissing him remained. But still, it made him giddy. Marco shared his feelings. And that was all that really mattered, Jean decided. So what if the situation was impossible? So what if Marco should still be dead? So what if only half of him stood before Jean? All that mattered was Marco, alive, and upright, and loving him.

He lurched forward, pressing his own kiss to waiting lips, his heart stuttering as Marco pulled him close again. He brought his right hand up, tangling it in the dark hair of Marco's head. His left fell against his waist, below the gore, drawing the other boy flush against him. Their lips made loud smacking noises, but Jean didn't care, couldn't care. He pulled away gasping, resting his head against Marco's shoulder as he caught his breath. And, for the first time since appearing, Marco spoke.

"Je-an" He rasped, his voice sounding strained, wet. It made Jean frown, though he didn't voice the discomfort it caused him, because Marco was talking to him. "Jea-n" He repeated, and Jean looked up to acknowledge that he was listening. "L-ove you." He managed, and smiled gently. Jean felt fresh tears spill over, his cheeks already soaked. He had to say it. He'd wanted to for so long, and now was his chance.

"I... You too Marco. I... I love you." He stuttered, kissing the corner of his lips, breathing a sigh of relief, for he'd finally said it. Marco's smile widened a fraction, and his eyelid closed slowly. Jean kissed it, then his cheek, taking the time to press an individual kiss to every freckle he came across.

"-gether fo-rev-er." Marco tried, barely managing to get it out, but Jean understood, and he nodded, his lips finding Marco's again.

"Yeah, forever." He agreed, allowing himself a small smile. It would be hard, considering Marco's state, but Jean didn't care. He'd do anything for Marco. He'd even die for him. That was something he'd decided long ago. He'd gladly have taken Marco's place. But it seemed unnecessary now. He looked up to the other's face again, smiling to show him that it was the truth, but his face fell when his eyes fell upon Marco's expression. The look on his face was pained, and he took a deep breath. Jean could hear a liquid sound, like there was water in his throat when he tried to swallow. He realised, with a start, that it might be blood. The breath came out shakily, and Marco frowned, looking down at himself for a moment.

Jean followed his line of sight, glancing over at the damaged side, noticing for the first time that black ooze was dribbling from the wounds. He retched, though managed to keep it discreet. He didn't want to hurt Marco's feelings. But, now that he could see it, it dawned on him that the bitter smell from before was this stuff, and that it was putrid, sickening. It might have been blood once, but now it was something else, something rotten. He forced himself to look away, just barely managing to swallow the bile that rose to his throat. Instead, he looked up at Marco's face. The sadness on his features was obvious.

"-an't stay." He gurgled, trying to clear his throat. He ended up coughing instead, some of the black coming out of his mouth and into his hand. Jean's eyes widened in distress, unsure of what he could do to help the other teen. "Can-t st-ay." He tried again, meeting Jean's eyes to affirm his understanding. Jean could only look at him with pain etched into his expression.

"What? Why not?" He demanded, but Marco just shook his head.

"Lo-ve yo-u." He mumbled, kissing Jean again, and he let him, even though the black that spotted his lips terrified Jean, and tasted like rotted meat. It was Marco. And Jean loved him.

"I know, you said that. I love you too Marco." He replied, not sure what the other was trying to convey beyond that. He looked for clues in the way the other looked at him, but could read nothing but regret, and loneliness.

"-lease. C-ome with m-e." Marco plead, looking a little hopeful, and Jean's heart picked up a beat.

"Of course I will!" He said quickly, his lips finding the dark haired boy's cheek.

"F-or-ever." The other added, looking at Jean seriously, as if it was a tough decision that needed deep mental debating.

"Yes, forever Marco, anywhere." Jean agreed. He tried to kiss him again, but Marco stopped him, his face sad as he reached around, his hand tangling in the dark hair at the nape of Jean's neck. He just stared for a long while, and Jean tried to read all of the thoughts behind the eye that seemed to be slowly clouding over. "Marco?" He whispered, his lip trembling. Something was wrong, he could feel it, but he couldn't place it. Marco had always worn his heart on his sleeve, so it was easy to read him, and Jean could feel the regret, the guilt, and the love, all of it coming off of the other boy in waves. But why? Why was he feeling that way?

He used the hand tangled in Jean's hair to pull him forward, finally letting their lips meet. It was harder than before, desperate. Marco didn't bother trying to angle his face so that Jean would only touch the side that was in tact, but Jean didn't care anymore, kissing the bare teeth. And he couldn't bring himself to pull back, even as he found himself gasping through his nose for breath. But he finally pulled away when he felt moisture against his cheek. He was startled to see a dark trail coming from Marco's eye. It must have been a tear, but it was brownish in color, muddy. His brows knitted, and he got up on the tips of his toes to kiss it away. It didn't matter that it wasn't normal. It was Marco's tear, so it was precious.

He returned to his lips, pressing a few kisses there. The hand that was gripping his hair was starting to hurt, a lot, but he didn't mention it. It wasn't important. But it truly was painful, and he wondered why Marco was gripping it so hard. Surely he had to know that it was hurting him. He felt a soft tug, and couldn't hold back the yelp it elicited.

"M-Marco!" He gasped, receiving a kiss as a response. He relaxed again, accepting that to be an apology. But, a few seconds later, he felt another tug, this time to the side, his head snapping to face the left side involuntarily. He yelped again, this time hurting more than the last. He could feel the muscles in his neck strain from the force of Marco's pulling hand. "Marco, what-" He was cut off as his head was forced the other direction, his muscles protesting the movement.

He tried to back up, to remove Marco's hand from his hair, but he couldn't bend correctly, couldn't get his finger's around the other male's, and Marco wouldn't let him stray too far from his body. He yanked in the other direction again, and Jean felt tears welling up in his eyes.

"M-Marco, please, I..." He cried, pushing against the other's chest, trying to fight his way through, but Marco didn't even acknowledge the blows, turning his head the other way, this time with even more force. Jean felt his bones creak with protest, and his eyes widened as he realised what Marco was doing. But why? Weren't they just reunited? Didn't they love each other?

The hand untangled itself from Jean's hair, grabbing his chin instead. Jean, once more, tried to back away, but Marco hooked a leg around him, sending them both toppling to the ground, Marco straddling the smaller frame when they landed. Jean realised how trapped he was, the other teen's weight enough to keep him down. And the hand was on his chin again, hastily forcing his head backwards. His neck was taut against his throat, his mouth open in a bid to relieve some of the pressure. It hurt, so much, more than anything. But he couldn't fight it, not anymore. If this was what Marco wanted, then who was he to fight?

The hand fell to his hair again, pulling, and finally, there was a loud crack. Jean heard it, felt it, screamed. But Marco didn't stop, yanking in the other direction, harder than before, and there was another snapping, and Jean's vision started to spot as he whined, lowly, throatily.

"M-Mar-co..." He gasped, vaguely registering that the hand had come to the top of his hair, stroking gently. He felt lips against his own, and felt the moisture of tears falling onto his face, not his own. And he heard Marco cough again, heard the liquid hitting the ground as he sputtered, felt it on his lips when he came back for another kiss.  
"L-ove y-ou."  
And then the hand in his hair pulled, forcing his ear against his shoulder, kept pulling, till at last there was a harrowing crunch, and everything went black.  
It was still for a moment, then Marco gently pulled Jean's head to the proper angle. His eyes were closed, his cheek stained with Marco's dirty tears, and there was a bit of pain in his expression. How Marco wished he was just sleeping, how he wished he looked like he was just sleeping. But his face was set in a grimace, his lips parted in a silent scream that the world would never hear, that Marco would never hear. Marco's frame shuddered, fresh tears falling, just as dark as the previous ones, and he sobbed wetly into Jean's motionless chest. He let all of his weight fall on the body below his own, soaking the shirt that Jean had been wearing. He felt his body lurch, knew that his organs that had been barely working in the first place were shutting down again, shriveling or disintegrating. He could hardly see anymore, the cloudiness in his eye taking over his vision with white, so he closed it, opting to visualize Jean as he left the world for the second time.  
He didn't know why he'd woken up, didn't know how. But he knew that he had something to do the second his remaining lung took its first gasping breath. He ignored the pain of his missing side, sought Jean out, told him how he felt, and Jean felt the same. And now, now that they were both lifeless, dying, dead, they could be together.

"Forever." He mumbled quietly to himself, or maybe Jean, his heart giving one last beat before he joined Jean in the blackness of death.

A/N: Gosh, this one was pretty gruesome. But hei, I should have expected it, right? This is the JeanMarco fandom after all. They're a pretty gruesome pairing. Once again, for the sake of time, I combined the daily theme with a prompt. Today's theme is: Inspiration. I know it was only mentioned briefly, but it's in there. It totes counts.  
I'm not even going to attempt to explain Marco. I know that they cremated him. But, come on, a talking pile of ashes can't do much. And don't even get me started on reanimation. That's another story for another day. I actually learned a lot by writing this. I contemplated for a long time how I was going to have Marco kill Jean. I decided a weapon was too heartless of him. Not to mention the fact that Jean probably would have noticed it and got suspicious. And I don't think he'd be able to beat him to death or strangle him with only one arm. So that kind of led me to breaking his neck. But I did a bit of research, and it's a lot harder to do than it is in movies. Twisting someone's head around is actually really hard to do, and not a very effective way to break the neck. The best way is to force the chin back, or force the ear toward the shoulder, but even then, it's really hard. That's why it took Marco so many tries. (Plus, you know, dramatic effect. If we're going to make this painful, might as well go off the deep end.)  
Anyway, I've got to get going for work, but I'm glad I managed to get this out before I left. Thank you for the prompt, and prompts are open for me all week. It's a celebration after all! If you'd like me to fill a prompt, please leave it as a message or a comment or a review, whatever. Specify if you'd like it to be NSFW or not. If you don't mention it, I will assume it is NOT NSFW. That's it though, prompt away. I'm up for anything, as you can probably see. And you can send me multiple, if you like my writing.

Alright, happy JeanMarco week, and see you guys when I get the next prompt written. Sorry if I hurt your feels. I hurt my feels.


	3. Too Fast

Prompt: Can you do a fic where Marco is blind? Every one I've read was really good but there are so few! Just blind, no missing limbs. It can be an AU or the canon universe, I don't mind. If you could somehow make it NSFW or even remotely NSFW that'd be interesting but it's certainly not needed and if the fic will suffer from it PLEASE just leave it out.

It was tiresome, trying to get around a college full of moody young-adults. One had to try and avoid running into anyone, or risk confrontation. Not to mention many of the students and teachers carried around steaming hot coffee, and coffee cups couldn't be trusted to hold the liquid inside. Not to mention how angry people tended to get if you made them spill their coffee, regardless of if you got burned in the process or not. People were loud, always talking to each other, or themselves, not paying any attention as they strolled around and texted as they walked.

Now, add being blind to all of that.

Yeah, Marco had a rough life, needless to say. But he made do, and most of the students had, at some point, realised that he was disabled. That said, most people just avoided him altogether, and he was alright with that. It was the ones that went out of their way that were annoying. Just because he couldn't see didn't mean he didn't know how to go to the bathroom by himself, for Christ's sake.

He'd always hated pity. While it couldn't be helped early on, when he'd first lost his sight and needed assistance getting around, he was perfectly capable now. He got from his apartment to his school every morning, and made it to class just fine. (Though sometimes covered in coffee.) He didn't need anyone to guide him there, or to the bathroom, or to the bus stop, and he definitely didn't need anyone whispering about him behind his back. He didn't have trouble completing his homework; no more than anyone else anyway. And just because he was blind did NOT mean he was deaf, a fact many seemed to forget at one point or another.

But still, he tried to make it, one day at a time. What other choice did he have? His disability made it hard enough for him to find a decent job, he couldn't afford to be uneducated as well. He fell into the same monotonous routine that all of the other students had, with the addition of running into walls and people on a pretty frequent basis. Nothing he couldn't handle.

He wasn't very interested when a new student was announced to the class. He was a second semester transfer; not particularly rare, though not very common either. It wasn't until Marco heard someone scooting into the seat next to him that he paid attention. What had the teacher said his name was? He hadn't heard. What if the guy tried to strike up a conversation? Would he think Marco an ass for not knowing his name?

But he didn't say anything. All Marco could hear from him was the scratch of a pencil against paper as the professor spoke. Notes. But that was kind of weird; Most students relied on laptops for taking notes these days. Marco was one of them, though not really by choice. Handwritten notes would be basically useless to him. The only reason he could use the laptop was because he had a program installed that would read text aloud to him. But who was he to judge? Some people just preferred the traditional method.

Not a word was spoken by either of them until the professor dismissed the class. Marco was busy packing up his laptop when he heard the guy clear his throat. He turned his head in the direction of the sound, hoping he looked like he was paying attention.

"Uh, sorry to bother you, but do you know where this class is?" The guy asked, and Marco heard the rustle of paper, probably a schedule that had been in his pocket.

"What class?" He wondered, and there was a pause, and some more crinkling noises.

"Biological science, with a professor Zoë ?" He read.

"Oh, Hanji. Yeah, that's my next class, you can just follow me." Marco said, offering a small smile.

"Alright, awesome. I got so lost trying to find this class. I ended up in some weird basement lab, and there were, like, jars with dead animals and everything." He said. Marco chuckled.

"That's Hanji's secret lair. It's best to avoid it if you can."

"Duly noted."

Marco finished packing up and stood at his full height, walking toward the door. He put his hand out a little as he neared, brushing the frame to make sure he was going to make it through instead of walking into a it. Safely outside, he took a right, keeping close enough to the wall that he could reach out and touch it on occasion, just to check.

"The school's not so confusing, after a while. The main building is basically just a big square cut in half with a hallway. And the side buildings are all labeled, so you'll know what they have inside when you see them." Marco explained, turning a corner. "And Hanji's class is easy to find, if you can make it to this hallway. It's always the noisiest, and has the weirdest smell." He offered. He heard the guy next to him scoff.

"Or, you know, the huge sign above the door that says 'Hanji's Biological Science Class, beware all ye that enter.' That might give it away." He mused. Marco raised a brow. Was there really a sign like that? It was definitely something Hanji would do.

"O-Oh, yeah, that too." He quickly agreed. This guy must have been pretty dense, since apparently he'd yet to notice that Marco was 100% sightless.

"Thanks for helping me out..." The guy trailed, and Marco awkwardly stuck his hand out, hoping he had gotten close enough for it to look like a handshake.

"Marco." He supplied. He felt a hand take his, giving it a small shake.

"Jean. Nice to meet you, officially." The guy, Jean, said, his footsteps heading towards the door. Marco followed.

"Yeah, you too." He agreed. Once inside, he headed to his usual seat. There were no assigned seats, of course, but everyone knew that Marco sat there, so no one ever took it. It made it a lot easier for everyone in the long run. He could barely hear Jean introducing himself to professor Hanji, smiling as the teacher exploded and loudly announced the new student to everyone in the room. They then proceeded to introduce Jean to Sawney and Bean, the class pets. (Two very 'friendly' tarantulas.)

Marco pressed the button on his watch, leaning in to hear the time. As if they were listening, Hanji clapped, drawing everyone's attention to the front.

"Alright, we're getting started, everyone sit down." They called, and there was a loud buzz of shuffling as everyone took their seats and got set up. Marco was surprised to hear the chair next to his scrape against the floor as it was pulled out, and someone sat in it. No one ever sat with him. So that meant that it must be...

"Jean?" He whispered, for Hanji had started talking. He received a small noise of affirmation.

"There's nowhere else to sit, hope you don't mind." Jean whispered back, the sound of pages being turned alerting Marco that the other had taken out a notebook.

"N-No, I don't mind." He stammered, zoning into the lesson and beginning his notes. It was nearing the end of class, and Hanji had run out of slides to present, and had thus dismissed class early. Again, as Marco was packing up, Jean cleared his throat. Marco smiled knowingly, inclining his head to show his attentiveness.

"How about history with Smith?" He questioned, and Marco laughed.

"I wonder if they just copied my schedule and gave it to you... Yeah, that's where I'm headed. I swear, if the one after that is English, I'm going to be a little worried." Marco joked.

"Nah, I have statistics after that." He replied.

"Ah, that won't be too hard to find. It's near first period." Marco supplied, heading towards history class.

"That's good to hear. Do you have Lunch after your English class?" Jean asked, and Marco nodded. "Do you... Do you mind if I sit with you? I know it's kind of pathetic, but no one likes to eat alone, you know?"

Marco knew. He used to eat alone, until Armin Arlert had worked up the courage to sit with him one day. He was a very nice boy, and he and Marco became fast friends. And with Armin came Eren Jaeger, and his sister Mikasa Ackerman. And once it became apparent that he wasn't infectious, other people began sitting with him too, on occasion. Sasha came pretty frequently, but mostly just because Marco would let her steal food from his plate. Connie came because he had a crush on Sasha. Reiner, Bertholdt, and Annie sat there every day that they didn't go out to eat. How they had the money to eat out all the time was beyond Marco, but he didn't mind it much, since they were nice enough when they did sit. Annie could be a bitch, but it was in an endearing way. Usually.

"Yeah, no problem. I'll come wait outside your class when I get out. English always gets out early." He promised, leading the way into the history class. Again, Jean took the seat next to him, and they were quiet all through the lecture. Marco said a quick goodbye when they had to go to separate classes, promising to hurry when he got out of class.

English felt extra long, and Marco couldn't decide if it was because he hated Mark Twain's writing, or because he was actually kind of looking forward to lunch with Jean. It seemed silly, but it'd been a long time since someone had spoken to him so casually, sometimes bordering on rude. It actually got kind of annoying when people were overly nice to him, just because he couldn't see.

Finally his teacher dismissed the class, and he rushed to make it to Jean's class before he too was released. His watch told him that he was running a bit later than anticipated, meaning his teacher hadn't let them out that early at all. He could only hope Jean didn't think he was standing him up. He stopped when he had reached the right class, running his fingers over the number plate just to make sure. He breathed a sigh of relief, leaning against the wall, planning on waiting until Jean emerged.

He was surprised when he heard a familiar clearing of a throat.

"O-Oh, Jean, sorry!" He gasped, arching off the wall to stand up straight.

"Am I that mediocre looking? You'd think I'd be hard to miss, what with the two-tone hair..." He mused, but began walking. Marco followed, a sudden desire to know what two colors Jean's hair was rising up in him. But it was rather apparent that Jean still hadn't caught on to his blindness.

"Anything I should know about the people you sit with?" Jean wondered, turning down a hallway that led to the cafeteria.

"Um... Well, Armin is a bookworm, and it's best you don't tease him about it, because his boyfriend, Eren, will send you to the hospital. It's a situation best avoided. And don't mess with Eren either, because his sister will make you wish you were dead. You won't even want to go to the hospital when she's done with you." Marco warned. He heard a quiet scoff.

"There are some other people that sit with us on occasion, but they're all pretty alright. Just don't get on Annie's bad side. It's almost as bad as Mikasa and Eren put together, or so I've heard." He laughed nervously. He had the fortune of being on Annie's good side. Maybe it was the blindness, but she seemed to have a soft spot for him.

"Alright, jeez, you make it sound like you sit with a table of mass murderers." Jean pointed out, and Marco thought about how accurate that could be. They came to the cafeteria, and he made a beeline for his normal table. He caught the tail end of a conversation Eren and Armin were having as he sat down.

"-ot like you're terrible or anything, but you really need to work on not tensing up so much, you know? It really hurts when you do, and..."

"Hey guys!" Marco said loudly, alerting them to his presence. They both shut up, offering him small greetings. He could feel their gazes on Jean, and he patted the seat next to him, hearing him sit down.

"This is Jean. He transferred in this semester." He explained.

"Hi, Jean. I'm Armin."

"Eren."

"Mikasa. It's a pleasure to meet you." Marco smiled in Mikasa's direction, not having noticed she was there before. She was always so quiet.

"Y-Yeah, you too." Jean stuttered, and Marco grinned halfheartedly. It sounded like Jean thought Mikasa was cute. He didn't know why it made his stomach hurt a little, but knew that it did.

"They have chicken noodle soup or chili today, Marco. What would you like?" Armin asked, and Marco smiled in the direction of the voice.

"Soup, thank you." He replied, pulling a couple of bills out of his pocket and handing them to Armin. "And an orange juice to drink, if you don't mind." He added sheepishly.

"Yeah, no problem, be right back. Jean, do you want to come up with me? I can show you how the line works." Armin offered, and Jean stood, following the other male.

"Better not lay a finger on my boyfriend." Eren grumbled quietly, earning a little laugh from Marco.

"I don't think you need to worry." He assured, but Eren was having none of it.

"I always need to worry. I know you can't see him, but Armin is a fine piece of tail." He announced, And Marco rolled his eyes.

"Haha, very funny. Aren't we a little old for the blind jokes?" He demanded, and he heard Eren chuckle.

"Maybe, maybe not." Eren replied. Marco shook his head. This was why he liked Eren.

"You're terrible! Here I am, a disabled person, and you're making fun of me?" Marco whined with false offense lacing his tone. Eren scoffed.

"Whatever, like anyone can even tell. If you didn't run into things on occasion, literally no one would know." He pointed out, and Marco giggled.

"Yeah, fair enough. I'm pretty awesome, huh?"

"Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that." Eren quipped, shutting up when there were footsteps approaching. Marco felt Armin lean over next to him, and heard the bowl of soup as it met the table. He offered the smaller male a smile, taking the spoon and change that was handed to him.

"Thanks." He said, pocketing the change and taking his first bite. Jean sat back down next to him, not saying a word. Marco could smell the chili.

"You'll have to tell me how that is. I've never had it before." He prompted.

"Yeah, okay." Jean replied, and Marco heard the spoon clatter against the bowl as he scooped out a bite. A few seconds later, he spoke again. "It's not bad. My mom's is better though." He decided, and Marco nodded.

"Well, it's school food, not much more to be expected." He mused, bringing his own spoon to his lips. It was a little hot, but not unmanageable, and so he set to eating. Mikasa, Eren, and Armin (mostly Eren) filled the air with conversation, and Jean did eventually start joining in, with Marco adding something on occasion. He was more focused on eating successfully though. While he was very good at eating like a normal person, it still took some thought to project the spoon into his mouth correctly.

He was doing well, until he reached to take a drink. He moved his hand too fast, and ended up knocking it over. He groaned as he heard the plastic cup hit the table, only able to hope the lid wouldn't come off. He scrambled to pick it up, but if the almost nonexistent weight of the cup had anything to say on the matter, the lid had, indeed, come off. That meant there was orange juice all over the table. Fantastic.

"I-I'm sorry!" He sputtered, his hands tapping around in search of the napkins Armin always brought him. He could hear Armin trying to assure him that it was fine, and he should calm down, and Eren had already moved all of their belongings off of the table, and Mikasa had gone for napkins. Still, he continued to look for the little stack he already had. But he ended up knocking his remaining soup over instead, that landing on his lap, of course. At this point, he was embarrassed, wet, and miserable. He wondered what could possibly make the situation worse.

"Holy shit, you're blind!" Jean exclaimed from his right side.

Everyone shut up, letting the phrase sink in, the liquid mess all but forgotten.

"Y-You didn't know?" Armin stuttered incredulously.

"Seriously?" Eren tacked on. Jean was quiet for a moment.

"N-No. I thought he was just clumsy... And weirdly scared of serious eye-contact." He admitted. Marco could feel the eyes on him, and he bit his lip. How he wished he could see Jean's expression, though he could guess that it was full of pity, now that he knew. Nobody liked a friend that they were always pitying, which meant that Jean would probably try to avoid him after lunch. Well, that, and Marco was covered in soup, and probably a little juice too. He didn't know how he had planned to keep it from him, but it seemed like things had been going so well...

"Wow, you get around really well! No wonder you didn't mention the sign above the biology classroom... And I thought your watch looked kind of weird. And that's why you didn't notice me waiting outside the classroom... And that's why blondie got your food for you... Shit, I'm fucking dense!" He growled. Mikasa had since returned with napkins, and she and Armin set to the task of mopping up the spill.

"I'm sorry, man." He offered quietly, and Marco could only smile softly.

"It's fine. Don't worry about it." He replied, standing up. "I'm going to go change." He announced. He always kept spare clothes with him, just in case something exactly like this happened.

"Alright. See you in German?" Armin offered, saying without words that he'd take care of the mess and Marco's dishes. Marco nodded.

"Yeah." He turned to leave, but heard another chair scoot out as well. He stopped, knowing it was Jean.

"U-Uh, can I come too?" He asked, earning a surprised look from Marco. What did he stand to gain by following? But who was Marco to say no?

"Sure, if you want." He agreed, shrugging as he began walking. He heard jean behind him. He located a bathroom, checking the plate to make sure it was the men's room, then went inside. He slipped into a stall, Jean's footsteps stopping somewhere near the sinks as Marco closed the door. His pants were pretty soaked, and he winced as he peeled them off, tossing them to hang over the door as he went for his boxers too.

Marco was seriously wondering how Jean felt about the whole blind thing. He hadn't really indicated his feelings one way or the other. He figured he might as well ask.

"Jean?" He called.

"Yeah?" Came the reply.

"Uh... Does it bother you?" He blurted. It was quiet for a moment.

"...You being blind?" The other male supplied.

"Yes." Marco confirmed, awaiting the answer.

"Should it?" A question, not an answer. Marco frowned.

"I-I... I mean, it bothers most people..." He offered.

"Really? Well, that's stupid. It's not like you're any different just because you can't see. You're still the freckled kid I met in class this morning, that showed me around and gave me a place to sit at lunch."  
Marco fell silent, wanting to cry. Jean didn't mind? Could he be considered a friend, then?

"So, uh, what's your next class?" Jean questioned from outside of the stall.

"Um... German." He mumbled, pulling his spare clothes from his bag. Hadn't he said that already?

"Me too. Do you have Levi?" He asked. Marco grimaced.

"Yeah, unfortunately." He replied.

"Unfortunately?" He prompted, receiving a sigh.

"Let's just say, if you aren't perfect, you're in for a rough semester. Levi is a monster. And don't leave ANYTHING in his classroom. Don't tear the fringe off of your paper, don't leave eraser crumbs or pencil shavings, don't shed, don't leave finger prints on anything. It's best if you just don't move at all the entire time. He'll Windex you in the face if you step out of line. Sometimes he does it just because." Marco explained, and he could hear Jean gulp. He'd finished getting dressed, so he grabbed his discarded clothing, folding it up and shoving it into the empty pocket of his bag. He'd have to remember to take it out as soon as he got home.

"That bad, huh?" Jean grumbled, and Marco smiled.

"I'm not exaggerating. I'm pretty sure he tried to scrub the freckles off my face once." Marco recalled, rubbing his face absently.

"That's terrible!" Jean said, and Marco laughed.

"I don't know, I don't like them much." He admitted.

"What do you mean? They're fucking adorable. Why wouldn't you like them?" Jean demanded. Marco flushed, only able to hope it wasn't visible. Jean thought they were cute? Did that mean he thought Marco was cute? But he'd made no indication of his gender preference, though it seemed he'd liked the looks of Mikasa. Thankfully, they'd made it to class, so he didn't have to reply, quickly retreating to his seat. He received a greeting from Armin, who sat on his left, Eren on the other side of his boyfriend. Jean walked in and sat on Marco's other side.

"It okay if I sit here? Or is this Mikasa's seat?" He wondered. Marco shook his head.

"No, she took Japanese. You can have it." He returned. He felt Jean relax next to him.

"Good. It was really fucking awkward in statistics. I had to sit next to this weird bald guy that kept talking about this chick that, apparently, really likes potatoes." He recalled. Marco laughed.

"Sounds like you met Connie." He said with a grin.

"You know the baldy?" Jean demanded.

"Yup. He sits with us sometimes. The potato girl is Sasha."

"Oh... Well, I hope that Sasha isn't all he talks about." Jean offered. Marco chuckled.

"He's crushing pretty hard on her right now. Give him a break." He chided, thinking on it fondly. Then he remembered another supposed crush. "What about you? It sounded like your heart skipped a beat when you met Mikasa." He pointed out, only half joking. He kind of wished that Jean would deny it.

"Hmm... Yeah, she was pretty hot." He agreed, and Marco's heart fell. It was hard to admit, but he was starting to really like Jean. Maybe it was because of how quickly he'd accepted the blind factor, maybe it was because he was, actually, pretty nice. But apparently nothing would come of it, he was straight. "But... I don't know. I don't think I want a girlfriend right now. I think I'm more in the market for a boyfriend at the moment." He admitted, and Marco's heart flew right back into place, firing into super hyperactive mode.

"You're bi then?" Marco wondered.

"I guess you could say that. Pan is more appropriate though." He decided. Marco would have continued on this line of questioning, but Levi started class, and he knew better than to interrupt one of his lessons.

When that class let out, Marco was done for the day. Most students had more classes to attend, but Marco was already ahead, credit wise, so he'd opted to give himself a little extra free time on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It proved useful too, since it took him longer to complete homework than other students. He said farewell to Armin, Eren, and Jean. But he was surprised when Jean said he was leaving too.

"Seriously? Did they just give my schedule to you?" He demanded. Jean laughed.

"My old school offered more credit hours in a day, so I'm ahead. And I've got a job, so I needed the extra time." He replied, following Marco out of the building. Marco rolled his eyes.

"Uh-huh, sure. It seems an awful lot like you're stalking me, mister... Uh... What's your last name?" He whispered conspiratorially.

"Kirstein." Jean whispered back, just as conspiratorially.

"Mister Kirstein." Marco finished in his normal voice. They both laughed, only stifling it when they reached the parking lot. Marco assumed Jean had driven, while he'd be taking the bus. He was sad to part. The two of them seemed to kind of be getting along. They had a similar sense of humor, which was a start.

"Alright, I've got to go to the bus stop. See you?" Marco said.

"Bus? You ride a bus home?" Jean asked, sounding incredulous.

"Um, yeah. I can't exactly drive..." Marco pointed out. He yelped as he was tugged by the arm, and stumbled after the other male.

"Not happening, Freckles. Hope you know your address." Jean quipped, the sound of a car door opening meeting Marco's ears.

"Really, it's alright, I take the bus every day!" He exclaimed.

"Well, I have a car, and some spare time, so you're not taking the bus today. Get in." Jean commanded. Marco contemplated arguing his case, but decided against it, holding his hand out to locate the open door and then ducking down into the car. He fumbled with the seat belt while Jean started it and put it in gear. He pulled out of the space, and left the lot, heading down the main street.

"Where are we headed?" He asked. Marco relayed his address, and gave some vague directions. "Oh, that's pretty close to where I live. A couple blocks away." Jean announced, and Marco's eyes squinted.

"Are you lying?" He demanded. Jean snorted a laugh.

"No, I'm not lying. Chill out. It's not a big deal." He assured, turning left.

"Alright. Well, just don't stalk me, okay?" Marco plead jokingly.

"You're pretty paranoid, huh? Well, I guess you are pretty good looking, it wouldn't be a surprise if someone stalked you." Jean retorted, and Marco's breath hitched. That was the second compliment that day. He couldn't really confirm or deny the claim, he didn't know what he looked like anymore. But it was nice to hear that someone thought he was good looking.

"Uh, thanks." He replied shyly.

"Yeah. I'm sure you get told that a lot, but it never hurts to hear it again." Jean said, and Marco guessed that he shrugged. He didn't bother mentioning that he hadn't heard that... Well, he couldn't remember hearing that ever.

"I'd, um, say the same, but, you know..." He tried, laughing awkwardly.

"Hmm... I'd say I'm pretty decent." Jean offered. "I guess my face is kind of long. Trust me, someone will call me Horseface by the end of the year. But you know, I'm not hideous or anything. And I'm lean. A little shorter than you. My hair is dirty blonde on the top, and brown on the bottom. Uh... I have great fashion sense..." He ranted, and Marco chuckled, trying to picture it. He wished Jean would let him touch his face; That was the best way for him to 'see' someone. Armin, Eren, and Mikasa had all let him do it. But he was kind of scared to ask that of Jean. They had just met, after all.

Jean turned a corned, then came to a stop.

"1113, right? We're here." He announced, and Marco frowned. He'd liked talking to Jean. Would it be too forward of him to offer for Jean to come over?

"U-Um, do you want to... Maybe... Come in for a bit? If you have some spare time..." Marco stuttered nervously. But he was relieved when he heard Jean pull up the parking break and shut off the engine.

"Definitely. It beats sitting at home and wallowing in self-pity." He laughed, opening his car door. Marco allowed himself a small smile, getting out as well and taking the lead on the way up to his apartment, unlocking the door and letting Jean inside. He took of his shoes, dropping his keys into the dish near his door, then heading inside. Walking around his apartment was much easier, for he knew exactly where everything was. There was no danger of running into things, so long as he put them back where they belonged.

"Well, uh, welcome?" He tried as Jean joined him in the living room. "This is the living room, the kitchen is over there, bathroom down the hallway to the left. If you pick anything up, please put it back where you found it, or I'm going to be searching for it forever." He said, walking over to his couch and sitting down. Jean followed, plopping down next to Marco with a sigh.

"It's a nice place. Super clean though, kind of weird." He admitted, and Marco chuckled.

"I used to be really messy, actually. My mom would scold me on and on about picking up my room. But now I don't really get much of a choice. If I leave stuff just anywhere, I can't find it, or I trip over it." He explained.

"That makes sense. I'll have to clean up my place before I invite you over." Jean mused, and Marco's heart skipped a beat. He planned on inviting him over?

"Don't worry about it. Just make sure I don't fall." He said, wondering if it sounded flirty. He wanted it to, but maybe it just sounded stupid.

"On the ground, or for me?" Jean wondered. Marco sputtered, blinking a little too rapidly.

"U-Uh, I..." He stuttered, earning a little chuckle from Jean.

"Marco, calm down." He commanded. "I was joking." Marco did try to calm down, but he was sure his face was red. Way to give it away, he thought to himself. "Well, kind of..." Jean added. And there went his heart all over again. What did that mean, kind of?

"U-Um..." He was unable to think of what to say. They fell into silence, Marco doing his best to calm down again. It was Jean that broke the silence.

"So like, would it help if I let you feel my face? I saw that in a movie one time." He wondered aloud. Marco turned his head in the direction of the voice. He bit his lip, considering the repercussions.

"Yeah, if you're okay with it." Marco said, nodding.

"No problem, go for it." Jean agreed, and Marco felt the couch shift as he came closer. He brought his hands up, tentatively, hesitating a few inches from where he thought Jean's face was, just hovering. Was it really okay? But Jean solved the problem for him, leaning forward until Marco could feel skin against his fingertips. His breath hitched, and he was frozen for a moment, but then he got to work, mapping out the face by touch.

Jean was right, his face was pretty long and slender, but not in an unattractive way. His features were well spaced to compliment the structure. He had thinner lips, about average for a male, maybe a little thicker than Marco's own. His nose was long and thin, coming to a point unlike Marco's, which had more of a button look to it. His eyes, which fluttered shut when Marco came up to touch them, were long as opposed to round, the lashes about average in length. His brows were pretty normal too, maybe a bit on the thin side, and angled downwards a little.

Marco continued, brushing his fingers through the hair at the top of Jean's head, trailing down towards the nape of his neck. He had an undercut, and Marco could guess where the two colors separated. He let his hands go down to shoulders, measuring the broadness against his own. He was definitely bigger than Jean, but that wasn't to say that Jean was small, by any means. One thing that was fair to say was that Jean was attractive. Marco had a mental picture of him now, and he was exactly his type.

Marco jumped when he felt hands on his own face, but relaxed into the touch. It was only fair, after all. He'd been touching Jean. He couldn't help his shuddering breath when Jean's fingers brushed over his lips softly.

"So, what do you think?" The other asked, and Marco closed his eyes.

"The whole truth, or the not as weird half truth?" He asked, and he heard a small laugh.

"The whole truth." Jean decided, his fingers moving up to touch Marco's hair. Marco sighed with pleasure, liking the feeling of fingers carding through his hair.

"Hmm. I think you're really attractive." He admitted. Jean's hand halted.

"That's all?" He wondered, earning a quirked brow.

"Fine, I think you're hot. Really hot. Super hot!" Marco gushed, his face heating up as the words spilled from his lips. He heard a chuckle.

"Alright, that will suffice, Freckles." Jean interrupted, his fingers going back to work on Marco's hair. Marco quickly shut his mouth, fisting his pants in his hands. Was that a good reaction? There was a pause.

"I think you're hot too, if you didn't pick up on that." Jean murmured. His fingers stopping again. Marco held his breath. That meant he was interested, right? If there was a mutual attraction, then there was a chance, right? He reminded himself to breathe.

The fingers tangled in his hair gently pulled him forward, and his breath hitched yet again as he felt lips against his own. How long had it been since someone had kissed him? He couldn't even remember, as sad as that sounded. But nobody ever wanted to deal with the baggage that came with being blind; It was too much trouble. He hadn't dated anyone since his freshman year in high school, and that had ended promptly after his accident.

Jean pulled away, and Marco held still, his eyes still closed. That had felt wonderful, and he wished Jean would do it again, but was too scared to vocalize it. He wished he could see Jean's expression, to know what he'd thought of it.

"Hmm... Too fast?" Jean asked quietly, the tip of his nose brushing against Marco's. Marco sighed gently.

"Um..." He was unable to think correctly. Was it too fast? He couldn't really care, because, wow, he wanted it. He didn't even remember wanting for a lover, but now that there was one on the line, damn, he was desperate.

"Maybe a date first?" Jean supplied, and Marco smiled, because that meant he wanted to spend time together. He nodded.

"Yeah, okay." He agreed, smiling. "But, um... If you don't mind, could you do that again?" He requested softly. He felt the puff of air as Jean laughed, then the lips were on his again, soft, but firm. When they parted again, Marco smiled.

"It's been way too long..." He breathed wistfully.

"Oh? Someone as good-looking as you has trouble getting a date?" Jean wondered.

"Mmm, I guess people don't like to see someone who can't see them." Marco quipped, earning a gentle shove to the shoulder.

"Well, that's ridiculous. Anywhere specific you want to go? I'll have to go scope it out beforehand." Jean decided.

"No, I don't go out much. Unless I'm familiar with the area, it can be dangerous for me to go alone. So the only time I ever go anywhere that isn't around here is when my parents visit. So you can pick a place, as long as you promise you won't leave me there without any way to get home. It's really awkward asking a random stranger for help getting home." Marco replied.

"Fair enough. I'll check some places out, and keep you posted. In the mean time though..." He trailed, pecking at Marco's lips, earning a smile.

"Yeah?" Marco prompted.

"Hmm... I don't really have anything else to say. Shut up and kiss me?" He tried, and Marco laughed, initiating a kiss of his own.

"Yeah, alright." He chuckled.

A/N: I tried to include the NSFW, but it was going too fast, so I made the decision not to include it. It was optional anyway. But they got awfully friendly towards the end. I might add an extension onto this later, like them after they've known each other for a while.  
I think this was a bit on the happier side of the blind!Character spectrum. Marco was pretty well adjusted, and Jean is actually kind of a sweetie, when he wants to be. Anyway, I'm off to paint pottery with my friend, so I've got to go get ready! Thanks for reading!


	4. Once Again

Prompt: Reincarnation and highschool (with Marco having a scar on his right... you know - the areas he lacked at time of being discovered dead). 

It started years ago, the weird dreams. They used to happen once every few months, waking him up in the middle of the night, shaking, crying, because _he_ was dead. Jean didn't know who he was, or why he was so sad that he was dead. But every time the dreams happened, he'd wake, wishing it was him that was dead, instead of whoever that boy was. When he was younger, Jean wondered who he was in the dream. But as he grew, he realised he was himself, but then, not himself. He was the himself of a different time, of a different world.  
In that world, he was something of a loner, which was still true, but it was a lot worse for the Dream Jean. He only had one real friend, and, unfortunately, it was this friend that starred in the dreams. It was always such a shock when it happened. Everything seemed to be going well, they'd won some battle or something together. And then, as if to remind the feeble humans that there was no real victory, there he'd be. Not him; His body, mangled, broken, missing. It was sick, wrong, backwards. Somehow, Jean knew, knew that it should have been himself instead. He never dreamed of himself doing anything bad, but this boy, this friend, deserved life more than he did, and somehow he knew it. Yet here he was, his face only half there, what was left blatantly dead, not even feigning sleep, glassy eye lidded but not closed. It was enough to make him vomit upon waking sometimes.

Other times, that dream would lead to another, to a pyre. Ashes, ashes, ashes, burning heat and tears. His hand was red, blistering, a handful of ashes, probably grabbed while too hot, precious ashes for some reason. They were _his _ashes, but not, they were everyone's ashes. Ashes, ashes, the ashes of Jean's only friend, the ashes of someone he'd never met, the ashes of a soldier he might have sat next to at lunch sometimes, so many ashes, all together, indiscernible. Yet they were _his_. They were important.

The dreams, though horrible, and dreaded, remained relatively infrequent, manageable. At least, until he started going to high school. The frequency increased exponentially, a little at first, and then, by the time he was a junior, every night. He tried not to let his weariness show, but it was hard to function when you lost a couple hours every night because you couldn't stop sobbing over the death of someone you didn't even know. It was starting to get to him, and his friends were catching on to something being up. Maybe he was a little more irate than normal. Regardless, it was starting to affect his daily life, and he knew something would have to be done about it. He was about to start his senior year, he couldn't afford to be so tired all the time. And so, after some consideration, he decided that, if the dreams continued to be a problem one week into school, he'd seek help of some kind.

On the first day, he thankfully only had the first part of the dream, not the part with the ashes. So he had a pretty decent night's sleep. And the first day jitters were enough to assure he wouldn't fall asleep during the day, so he was feeling pretty good. He greeted all of the friends he hadn't seen over the break, which was all of them, if he was being honest. Jean basically died when summer rolled around. Much sleeping, and a few lazy days of floating in the backyard pool was all he required for a summer to be good. Everyone eagerly questioned him about his schedule, and he was relieved to learn that he'd know at least one person in all of his classes. And, even better, he had Armin in a lot of his classes. Study buddy scoping had already begun.

A few people mentioned he was looking better. Was he? The dreams were still just as terrible, just as haunting. Maybe he was getting used to it? That was even scarier than the dreams themselves. He shook the thought off, heading to his first class, following Armin and the Jaeger boy. The bell rang as they came in, so he had to scramble into a seat, not paying attention to who he sat next to. He could choose a different seat later, if he needed to. But he knew the teacher, and he knew better than to be standing when class started.

"Alright you losers, I'm not going to bother with introductions. If you don't know me by now, and I don't know you, you probably shouldn't be in level four German. If you're new to the school, welcome, my name is Levi, good luck not getting lost, don't make a mess in my room. I will literally beat you to a bloody pulp. Jaeger can vouch for that." He spat, and Jean could see Eren shrinking into his seat a little. "Anyway, I'm going to call roll. Just 'here' will suffice, Kirstein." Jean withered a bit in his own seat, offering the teacher a faux-innocent grin. He began calling the names, alphabetically. Jean zoned out, only really hearing the names that were familiar to him. Arlert, always the first called. Poor Armin; the kid was so shy, and he was always the first on roll. But he'd gotten better at not pissing himself when Levi called on him. Several names later, then Blaus. Sasha was a nice enough girl. Sure, she stole food, but that was pretty normal for a teenager. More names, and then Bodt. Marco, his closest friend...

No, that wasn't right. He didn't know Marco Bodt. But that name meant something to him. The boy in the seat next to his called 'here.' Jean quickly looked over, taking in the boy's appearance. How had he missed him when he sat down? He was new, unfamiliar, he should have drawn attention immediately. Jean could see freckles, tan skin, and a brown eye. Then the boy seemed to realise that Jean was looking at him, and he turned to return the gaze.

Jean vomited all over the floor between them.

A lot happened after that, some people laughed, some people gagged, Armin and Eren stood and quickly yanked him out of his chair, leading him out of the room, Levi cursing behind him. But all he could see was that face, the freckles, the tan skin, the chocolate colored eye, but only one. And then scars, harsh, loud, familiar. It was _him_, they were _his_ ashes. Marco Bodt.

Jean came back to himself when Armin and Eren deposited him on a cot in the nurses' office. He was unable to explain, so Jaeger did it for him. The nurse shooed Armin and Eren back to class, instructing Jean to lay down and rest. She took his temperature, gave him some water, wiped the cold sweat that he hadn't realised had formed on his forehead. She told him to breathe. He had been gasping.

"If I didn't know any better," she began once he'd calmed down a bit, "I'd say you have PTSD. That brown haired boy said you threw up when you saw the person you were sitting next to. Do you know that person? Have they done something to you in the past?" She asked. He quickly shook his head. She sighed, but let it go, telling him to rest until his next class. He opted to just lay on the cot with his eyes closed, not sleeping, because he knew; If he slept, he'd dream of him, of Marco Bodt.

What did all of this mean? The person in his dreams had died, and he always assumed he'd never meet that person again, not in that life, not in this one. And yet, here he was, not dead, not ashes, alive, but still mangled, missing. What had happened to him to make him like that? So many scars, a missing eye, adorned by a face suited for smiling, for laughing. It was just as twisted in real life as it had been in the dreams. Wrong. It should have been Jean, even if it couldn't be.

The bell rang, and the nurse gave him the okay to go to his next class. He didn't want to, he knew he'd have to face anyone who was in his German class, anyone that they told, and maybe Marco. How must he be feeling, to have induced someone to throw up? Jean felt worse and worse the more he thought about it. But he couldn't skip, so he decided to just get it over with.

Sure enough, there was a chorus of snickers and heads turning his way when he entered. Armin stood up, waving him over, and he quickly shuffled in his direction, taking the seat next to him.

"Are you alright?" The blonde wondered, and Jean sighed.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry about that. I wish I could have seen Levi though." He admitted, chuckling as he imagined the teacher, probably still scrubbing at the spot furiously.

"Uh... You might want to lay low in that class for a while. I think you're at the top of Levi's list, at the moment." Armin whispered, earning a wince from the larger male.

"I should have figured. Thanks for the warning." He mumbled, straightening up as the teacher came in and began going over the classroom rules. A gentle tap on his arm drew his attention to Armin, who slid a piece of paper over to his side of the desk. A note.

_So, sorry if you don't want to talk about it, but what actually happened? I wasn't looking, but it kind of seemed like you just puked all of a sudden. Eren mentioned that it happened after you'd looked at the guy you were sitting next to, the one with the eye patch. Do you know him? _

Jean sighed, fishing a pen out of his bag.

**No, I don't know him. Well, maybe I do... I don't know. You know those dreams I've told you about? **

He passed the paper back to Armin and waited for his response.

_The ones about the boy that dies? _

**Yeah. It's him.**

Armin gave him a surprised look, then frowned.

_You're sure? _

Jean nodded.

_But, isn't that impossible? You've never met him, right? He's a transfer student from Sina! There's no way you would have met him before! _

**I'm aware of that, thanks. I didn't say it wasn't weird. But it's him, I'm sure. Even the side that was, you know, gone. It's covered in scars in stuff. I don't know. It's weird. **

Armin seemed to be deep in thought for a long time, his reply not coming for at least a couple of minutes.

_Well, I know it sounds crazy, but maybe he's a reincarnation. Maybe you are too. As far as we know, everyone here could be. _

That would explain a lot, definitely. But that was really far-fetched, wasn't it? Reincarnation was something you only heard about in those weird discovery documentaries, something you forgot right after the program ended. But what other explanation was there? Jean considered it, losing himself in the idea of it, slowly coming to accept it, forgetting about Armin completely until the bell rang, dismissing them to their next class.

"Jean?" Armin called as he packed up. Jean snapped his head to look at the blonde. "Sorry if that was weird. I know most people don't believe in that kind of..."

"No, I think you're right." Jean interrupted.

"Oh, really?" Armin asked, genuinely surprised.

"Yeah. It makes sense. Thank you." Jean replied, standing up. "I'll see you at lunch." He added, heading for his next class. One more block, then he could talk to Armin about it a little more.

He quickly claimed a seat, planning on contemplating the whole idea some more while the teacher droned. But his plan was quickly short circuited when _he_ walked in. Marco. Jean tensed, wishing more than he ever had before that he was invisible, that he didn't bleach the top of his hair to stand out. Of course, wishful thinking gets one nowhere, and he heard rather than saw the chair next to him being pulled out. A tanned arm came into his peripheral, then a body, but still he refused to move.

"Um... Hi." Sweet, gentle, nervous, Marco. Jean's eyes stung. "Are you... Feeling better?" He asked. Jean nodded stiffly. "That's good..." A silence.

"Uh... I can't help but feel that it was kind of my fault." He said sheepishly, and Jean's body went rigid. No. "I guess I am kind of a sight, huh?" No, no. "But I've never gotten such a violent reaction. So I understand if you want me to sit somewhere else. I just wanted to make sure you were alright." No, no, no. Why couldn't Jean speak, explain everything, hold him, cherish him? Without a response, the other teen stood, grabbing his bag and shouldering it. He turned to go to another seat, and finally Jean remembered how to use his body.

"Marco!" He yelled, earning the attention of not only the one in question, but most of the students that had gathered in the classroom. His face flushed as he was stared at. What an embarrassing day. But it had the desired effect, and Marco sat back down. Eventually everyone else returned to their own conversations after they'd realised that nothing else exciting was going to happen. But Marco was still looking at him, expectant.

"I... I'm sorry." Jean managed. For puking, for being alive, for letting him be mangled, for letting him die. He cried. He watched as surprise, then confusion, then worry crossed Marco's features, and eventually let himself be led out of class, for the second time that day. A few heads turned to watch when they noticed that Jean Kirstein, resident antisocial butterfly was crying. But no one stopped them. Class hadn't started, there was no teacher to fire questions at them.

Marco walked him a ways away from the classroom, finding a staircase, vacant at the moment since, as the ringing bell told them, class had begun. But they ignored the bell and sat on the stairs, Jean sobbing as quietly as he could, Marco awkwardly trying to comfort someone who was bawling for no apparent reason. But he was pretty good at the whole comfort thing, wrapping an arm around Jean's shoulders, guiding his head into the crook of his neck, patting his back softly. That had always been the best way to comfort him, it was the way his mother used to do it.

"Shh, Jean, it's okay." He murmured. Jean froze. He hadn't said his name. Levi hadn't said his first name. How did he know?

"How..." He began, and Marco pulled back to look at him, still obviously concerned.

"Hmm?" He prompted, brushing some of Jean's hair aside, wiping the tear trails away with his thumbs.

"My name, how did you know?" He wondered, and Marco looked surprised, blinking. Then he tried to laugh it off.

"I must have heard someone say it." He offered, rubbing his index finger across the bottom of his nose.

"You're lying." Jean blurted. Marco tensed.

"Huh? What makes you say that?" He asked.

"You do that when you lie." Jean said, pointing to the finger, which halted and fell to his side. Marco bit his lip.

"Well, how did you know that?" He questioned, and Jean blanched. How _had_ he known?

"U-Um, I..." He stuttered, and he heard Marco sigh. His face was easy to read. He was unsure. He was trying to decide whether or not he'd wanted to verbalize what he was thinking.

"Jean, have you... Have you had any weird dreams lately?" He wondered. Jean's breath hitched, because yes, YES, he'd dreamt of Marco for years. But the question was vague, not definite, possibly unrelated. Jean just nodded. "And... Is there ever a person in them that... You didn't know?" He continued. Again, Jean nodded. Marco switched to chewing at the inside of his cheek instead of his lip. "But, do you know them now?" He asked. Jean nodded, this time much harder. "Did you meet them today?" Marco asked, his visible eye narrowing. Jean nodded, his heart pounding.

"Was it... Was it me?" And he was unable to breath for what seemed like minutes, hours, but finally;

"Yes."

There was a tense quiet between them, until Marco sighed.

"...Me too." He breathed. "I've been dreaming about you."

Jean's head was sent reeling, and it seemed like he was in the middle of a dream all over again; He was wearing the weird clothes, and so was Marco, and they were alive, together, young, laughing, smiling, happy, eating, training, fighting, tired, working, slaying, flying, hurting, broken, dying. It all came in a rush, his head hurting, pounding. Marco only frowned knowingly, rubbing his back slowly.

"Do you remember?" He asked, but Jean couldn't answer, could only cry, because yes, yes, YES. He remembered everything. Marco drew closer, pulled him into his arms, and Jean hugged back, desperately, uncaring who saw, what they said.

"M-Marco-" He hiccuped. Again, soothing circles on his back.

"I'm here."

And he was, he was alive. Beautiful, caring, supportive Marco, his best friend, his only friend, the one that meant the most to him, alive. He sobbed, burying his face into the bigger teen's shoulder.

"Shh..." Marco shushed, resting his head against Jean's. "I know. I remembered everything a few weeks ago. It's why I transferred. I remembered your name, and I hoped, and there you were. Here you are." He trailed. Jean pulled back, looking at him, taking him in, just the same, Marco. And then his brows furrowed.

"You... You fucking asshole!" He shouted, shoving the other boy. Marco seemed taken aback, his arms coming up to defend himself should the need arise. "How could you do that to me?" He demanded, fresh tears welling. "How could you leave me?" He whispered, and Marco's face fell to one of hurt. Jean lurched forward, wrapping the other in a hug, holding him as tight as he could. "And I never even knew how it happened, why it happened... Never again, dammit!" He snarled. "Don't ever leave me again! I fucking missed you!"

Marco smiled, laughed, hugged back.

"I missed you too. Sorry I took so long, but I'm back." He said, nuzzling his face into Jean's hair.

"Welcome back."

A/N: This prompt is from , but hei, fair game, right? I decided to open prompts up everywhere I post regularly. Spread the love, right? I'd like to play with this one some more as well... So many possible chaptered fics in my future! But I want to finish up my EreMin story first, not to mention the SuFin that I'm working on. I've got a very full plate. So this will have to suffice for now.

And now it's off to work for me. I cut it really close these days... Good thing my boss is my mom, or my late ass would be fired! Thanks for reading, and I hope you liked it! Let the JeanMarco week celebration continue. Oh, right, this is my entry for "reincarnation," which I missed a couple of days ago. I was busy with a different prompt. Better late than never, right? Alright, seriously, bye bye! Thanks for reading!


	5. Guitars and Rain

A/N: I cheated, and simply added a NSFW extension onto the first prompt fill (The first chapter). So if you've already read the original, you can skip down to the new content. I didn't change anything above the indicator. But there was quite a bit added, so you should check it out!

His bass was perfectly tuned, polished, shiny, ready for the show. Jean had made him some hot tea to sooth his throat, and it left him feeling warm and loose. He'd practiced all of the songs, knew them inside and out, could play them backwards and sing them in at least two different languages. And yet his heart was hammering in his chest, fluttering like twenty birds shoved into one cage and trying to escape. Practicing in Eren's garage was a lot different than playing in front of a huge crowd.

So, maybe the local club wasn't exactly a huge venue, but it was a venue, with a crowd, and god, Marco was absolutely petrified. He couldn't understand how Eren was simply munching away on some hot Cheetos, Armin chancing one every few minutes, drinking from a bottle of water after every bite. And Jean, currently on his acoustic, just strumming away, humming softly to himself. How could they do that?

Marco tried to tell himself to calm down, that everything was going to be fine, that the set would be great. He reached for what was left of the tea, miscalculating how much remained. He thought it was a small enough amount that he could take it all in one drink, but he was mistaken, and the tea messily dribbled down his shirt, leaving dark patches. After quickly glancing around to make sure no one had seen his embarrassing display, Marco got up and scurried to the small bathroom, trying to dab the stains out of his shirt, to no avail. It brought a frown to his face; He wasn't going for the 'sloppy rocker' look. A creaky door startled him, and his head whipped around, eyes landing on a familiar face.

"Marco, what are you doing?" Jean asked, walking over to the sink and glancing at the damage Marco had done. He rolled his eyes, holding his arm out. A new shirt was draped over it, one of Jean's, but it didn't matter, it was better than a stained one. Marco quickly switched, tossing his original shirt into the sink while he pulled the new one over his head.

"Thank you, Jean." He said quietly, offering a small smile. He tried to make it look casual, normal, but it shook a bit, giving away his nervousness.

"Hey, calm down. You've played for an audience before." Jean pointed out, heading back to the backstage area, Marco following behind.

"Y-Yeah, but it was just at your Halloween party! That hardly even counts! And they were all drunk!" Marco replied, wringing his fingers together.

"Dude, we're at a club, do you think anyone is sober?" Jean wondered, opening the door and leading the way inside. Eren and Armin each offered quick acknowledgments before returning to their respective instruments. Marco realised that it must be getting close to time, since they were both fine tuning. He glanced toward his bass, knowing it was already tuned, but wondering if he should check again anyway. But before he had a chance, Jean led him over to a chair, sitting down opposite him.

"Alright babe, come on, talk to me. What's eating you up?" He demanded, and Marco swallowed harshly. He thought about it a moment before offering an answer.

"I just… What if I mess up? It wouldn't be such a disaster on the bass, but since I'm singing too… And what if I forget the words? That's happened before, you know. Remember? And I just kind of made awkward noises into the mic for a whole minute? What if I do that again? This is our big chance, and if I mess it up… God, I don't know if I could live with myself if I screwed this up for all of you!" He gushed, his fingers tangling up in his shirt as he spoke. Jean reached over, removing his hands from the shirt and setting them to rest in his lap instead.

"Breathe Marco." He commanded, not releasing the wrists he'd grabbed. Marco did as he was told, inhaling deeply and letting it out slowly. "You get so stupid when you get nervous." Jean mused, rubbing circles absently against the clammy skin. Marco looked up at him, his expression so pathetic that even Jean couldn't help but sputter. "S-Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I just… I hate seeing you so insecure. I know I've told you too many times, but you're so fucking talented. Do you even realise that this band wouldn't even exist without you? Even if one of us had come up with the idea, I would have killed Jaeger before we could even write the first note." He joked, managing to get Marco's lips tugging up in to a faint smile. He was only half-joking, but his boyfriend didn't need to know that.

"Not to mention how much relies on you. Do you think any of us could write music without you? You know your way around melodies and our instruments better than we do. And your lyrics? You could have been a poet." He continued. Marco's cheeks began reddening at the compliments, though he opted to let Jean finish his little speech. It was rare that the younger male expressed himself verbally, so it was something he never interrupted. "And yeah, you messed up that one time, but no one really cared. Your little noises were freaking adorable." He pointed out. Marco rolled his eyes.

"I think you're the only who thought so, but thanks." He snarked, accepting a small kiss to his cheek. Jean pulled back to look at him fully, just staring for a while, counting freckles on flushed cheeks.

"They're going to love you, you seriously have nothing to worry about. And if they don't love you, I'll kick their sorry, tasteless asses. So just calm down. You're going to be great." Jean promised, leaning in for a real kiss. Marco couldn't help but smile into the affection, returning the kiss, albeit a little shakily.

"Sorry Jean, I didn't mean to freak out. But I'm still nervous." He admitted, and Jean pursed his lips. He thought for a moment, then pulled back, reaching for his acoustic. Marco watched as he strummed a few random notes to make sure it was in tune, then he began playing a soft melody. It was familiar, though Marco knew it wasn't one of theirs. After wracking his brain for few seconds, he remembered the words, and began singing along.

_…__How easy it would be to show me how you feel  
More than words is all you have to do to make it real  
Then you wouldn't have to say that you love me  
Cause I'd already know  
What would you do if my heart was torn in two  
More than words to show you feel that your love for me is real  
What would you say if I took those words away  
Then you couldn't make things new just by saying 'I love you'  
More than words…_

"You know, I think this was the song you were playing when I decided we should make a band." Marco recalled. Jean continued to play despite Marco not singing.

"Yeah? It's one of my favorites. It kind of suits me, since I'm bad at putting shit in words." He mused, letting his melody trail off. Marco laughed, leaning forward and pressing his forehead to Jean's.

"Believe me, I know. But thank you Jean, I feel a lot better now." He admitted, noting the way his heart had slowed to match the pace of the song, slow and languid. He was glad for Jean's presence, pushing the guitar out of the way so he could straddle the other boy's lap. Jean put his instrument down, using his hands to grab at bony hips instead. But Marco stole one of the hands, bringing it to his chest and pressing it to the spot where his heart beat strongest. He wanted to show that he was telling the truth about his waning nervousness.

"Ah, good." Jean remarked, but his lips curled into a smirk, his hand sliding back down to the other teen's hip again, leaning in close enough that his breath fell against his ear. "But let's see if I can't get it racing again." He rasped, Marco's face immediately going red. He had no chance to prepare himself when Jean's lips crashed against his own, the hands on his hips the only thing steadying him and keeping him from toppling over backwards.

"J-Jean!" He gasped when he was allowed a moment to breathe, looking at the other scathingly. The one in question paid him no mind at all though, diving back in for another kiss. Marco didn't have the heart to deny him it either, so he decided instead to indulge. It was his first big show, why not? His head was spinning before he could even think of the other two boys in the room, but they didn't miss the makeout session in the corner.

"Jesus, get a room you homos!" Eren yelled, unnecessarily, for there was no one else in the room, and it was not noisy inside. Marco yelped, but Jean wouldn't let him go, flashing the bird in Eren's direction, and pulling away just long enough to retort.

"Like you can even talk, Jaeger. How'd Armin like that Cheetos kiss?" He wondered, Eren sputtering in indignation. Marco could practically feel the tension rising, but had no idea how to quell the argument. Thankfully, Armin took care of that.

"That's enough you two, it's time to go to the stage. We've only got twenty minutes before we start, and we still have to set up." He announced, already unhooking his keyboard so he could cart it out to the stage. Marco breathed a sigh of relief as Eren backed off with naught but a little grumbling, helping his boyfriend carry the instrument out of the room. He watched them go, then turned back to Jean, who was still looking a little miffed

"Hey, come on, we should help too. Eren can't get those drums moving by himself." Marco suggested, stealing a couple more kisses before extracting himself from the other's lap. Jean's spirits seemed to lift from the affection, and he stood, grabbing his electric and some cords, waiting for Marco to fill his hands as well. They both left the room, passing Eren and Armin on their way back, promising to help with the drum set upon their return. They had to go through a door to get to the wings of the stage, and Jean politely held it open while Marco scurried through, putting his bass down and then taking a moment to peek out at the crowd. His stomach dropped when he saw the size. It was a lot more people than he had anticipated, and his nerves were lighting all over again.

Jean noticed the way the taller male's frame had frozen, looking very stiff, and frowned, coming to stand next to him. He glanced out to the crowd as well, pleased with the turnout. But he had other things to attend to at the moment.

"Marco, you're freaking out again." He pointed out. Marco snapped his head to look in Jean's direction.

"N-No I'm not. I'm just… Uh… L-Looking to see if anyone we know came…" He mumbled, knowing that Jean didn't believe a word of it.

"Uh-huh. We just talked about this. It's going to be fine. Great! So just chill out." He commanded, grabbing for the older teen's hand. Marco forced himself to breathe again, trying a smile. "And hey, if all else fails, imagine them naked." Jean suggested, earning a snort and some muffled laughter from the other. "Seriously, I know you can do it. Just believe in yourself a little." He finished, pulling the taller behind him as they headed back to the room they'd been staying in.

Marco couldn't think of what to say. He had very little self confidence, if he was being honest. He was pretty outgoing, sure, but he still worried what people thought of him. And he had the tendency to crack under pressure. So something as important as this? It was terrifying. He wished he could share Jean's feelings on the matter, but he simply couldn't. He was brought back by Jean's voice again.

"And if you can't, just remember that I do."

And Marco's heart fluttered, but for completely different reasons. And when they walked onto the stage seventeen minutes later, he didn't forget the lyrics, and he remembered to strum, and the audience screamed for an encore, and some shady looking guy in a fedora gave him his card. Armin and Eren bought them all a round, and Jean managed to get along well enough with Eren that no furniture was broken. And, when they finally called it a night and piled into the van to head home, Jean leaned over and gave him a kiss.

"I told you, you did great." He mumbled, putting the van in gear and heading home. "But, uh, next time you might want to keep your shirt on." He added quietly. Marco raised a brow, looking over at his boyfriend.

"Why's that?" He wondered. It took Jean a long time to respond.

"You made me nervous." 

**{Added content begins here}**

"Pfft, what?" Marco wondered, grinning.

"Shut up, you're fucking hot." Jean grumbled, and Marco laughed, leaning over to give him a kiss.

It was at that point that Eren and Armin decided to intervene, both yelling for Jean to watch the road. In their defense, Jean _did _almost run off the road and into a ditch. Marco kept to himself after that, not bothering Jean until they had dropped Eren and Armin off, and were on their way to their own home. Considering they were stopped at a light, he made the informed decision that it would be okay to lean over and try to get that kiss again.

Jean smirked, turning his head to accept it, ignoring the light, which had changed, in favor of tangling one of his hands in Marco's hair. No one was behind them anyway. Marco brought his hand up and cupped Jean's face, holding him in place while he ran a thumb over his cheekbone, smiling softly into the kiss. Jean let go of the wheel, more interested in his boyfriend than getting home, and used the free hand to pull the other boy closer, his tongue swiping across already wet lips that quickly opened to accept him in.

Marco whined as Jean began tracing over his teeth slowly, then switched to trying to draw Marco's tongue into a battle for dominance. Eventually he got annoyed enough with Jean's persistence that he gave in, his hand coming up to tug at the darker hair near the nape of Jean's hair, swallowing his boyfriend's groan with a kiss. If he wanted Marco to be dominant, fine, he'd be dominant.

By the time someone had pulled up behind them and began honking when they realised that the light was green, and the van wasn't moving, Jean was bent awkwardly over the armrest, Marco bruising his lips with abandon. They hastily extracted themselves from one another, Jean shifting down to first and attempting to pull out. But he let out of the clutch too fast, and the whole car shut off, earning a groan from both boys, and another honk. Jean managed to get out the second time, but whoever was behind them opted to pass them immediately.

"Fucking jackass..." Jean seethed, but Marco could only laugh.

"We were stopped at a green light." He pointed out, and Jean grumbled, Marco unable to catch anything said. He figured that Jean would opt to drive them home at that point; it was only a few miles, and they'd had enough incidents on the road that day to last about a week. But, instead, Jean pulled off onto a dirt road, following it into a small forest, driving until they were unable to see the main road anymore, until the road brought them to a small pinnacle. Jean parked, shutting it off, then reached over for Marco again, grabbing the collar of his shirt and yanking him forward, smashing their lips together.

Marco couldn't put the thought from his mind that this was EXACTLY how every horror movie began (with the exception that Marco was not some stereotypical teenage girl,) but his raging arousal was enough to keep his mouth shut. Well, that, and he really liked the way Jean tasted. So he ignored the creepy location, fumbling blindly with the armrest until he managed to get it up, along with Jean's, and he pulled them both to their feet, stumbling as they half crawled over their seats, attempting to stay lip-locked while they transferred to the much more spacious back of the van. Eren had taken his drum set, and Armin his keyboard, so it was basically empty, only two guitar cases and an acoustic, which Marco quickly shoved up against one of the metal walls.

Jean was already fiddling with the belt Marco had on, his arms wrapped around from behind and trying to undo the buckle without the use of sight. He was failing in epic proportions, so Marco swatted his hands away, doing it himself as he turned around, pinning Jean against the wall and kissing at his neck. Jean let out a husky groan, his hands clawing at Marco's shirt in a bid to tear it off, probably; Another thing Marco had to do himself. He rid Jean of his shirt while he was at it, discarding it carelessly onto one of the back seats.

It was hard to stand in the van, both of them being on the tall side, they had to crane their necks. No matter how much he liked the way Jean was grinding against his knee, he wasn't up for a horrible neck ache later, so he pushed the two-toned teen down until he met the floor, following him as he went, already tugging at too-skinny jeans. It took some doing, and a bit of cursing, but eventually he managed to get them off, along with the underwear underneath. His own jeans were much easier to get off, and they joined the pile of discarded clothing, unwanted or needed in that moment.

There was no hesitation as Marco began kissing down his boyfriend's lanky body, halting when he felt Jean tug at his hair. He tried to continue anyway, but Jean pulled him up, claiming his lips again, using the surprise to yank Marco into his lap. This earned him a growl from the larger male, who pulled away from the kiss, a trail of saliva connecting their lips for a moment before it fell away.

"I thought you wanted me to top." He growled, but Jean only smirked in response.

"I changed my mind." He replied simply, and Marco frowned.

"You can't just..." He began, but shut up at Jean's next words.

"I want you to ride me."

Well, Marco was on board. That was his favorite position. And, truth be told, it was the best one they use, considering their location. The back of the van really didn't have enough room for Marco to lay Jean out like he loved to do. So he let Jean slip a couple of spit coated fingers inside, relaxing against the intrusion. He was better at that than Jean. Whenever Marco topped, he had to prepare Jean for what felt like ages, because the teen couldn't seem to loosen himself up. Maybe it was a pride thing.

But Marco took it easily, rocking against the fingers to show his readiness. Jean withdrew, one of his hands lining him up, the other on Marco's hip to help hold him as he searched out his entrance again. Once he felt the gentle prod, Marco let himself fall a little, taking about half of Jean inside. He grit his teeth, waiting for his muscles to relax, knowing they would if he gave them time. His boyfriend waited patiently, not moving an inch, though it was easy to see that he was having a hard time quelling the desire to pound up into the teen above him. But he was a considerate lover; They had class the next day, so he couldn't be too rough. He'd made the mistake once before, and ended up feeling so guilty about Marco having to limp around that he'd sworn celibacy for a year. It came to a prompt end one week later when, incredibly frustrated (both mentally and sexually,) Marco had tied him up and reminded him exactly why celibacy was not going to work in their relationship. It was Jean limping at school the next day.

Marco let his thighs give out, Jean buried to the hilt, and he panted, willing himself to stay calm, to wait till he was ready. Jean apparently thought he was ready enough though, as he started rolling his hips gently. It wasn't hard enough for it to really hurt or feel good, just enough to make Marco's stomach coil, to make him want more. He strained his legs again, lifting up and meeting one of Jean's little thrusts, huffing out a breath as it sent a line of pleasure along his spine.

After that, it was just a game of 'how far can I push my body.' Jean set a slow pace to begin with, his hands gripping at hips to help Marco lift himself, then to pull him down. But he was good at gauging how much Marco could take, maybe better at it than Marco himself. It was unsurprising to him when, after a deeper thrust, Marco moaned, immediately picking up his pace. Jean let out a breathy noise of his own, meeting the bigger teen's hips, matching pace easily. Marco began panting, a few little whines escaping his lips. But still, Jean hadn't found that spot yet.

He angled his hips, knowing for a fact that he was going to hit Marco's prostate dead on. He braced his boyfriend, his grip changing for better leverage. Sure enough, Marco cried out, his back arching. He would have fallen over backwards if Jean hadn't shifted to help hold him up. The brunette always underestimated the sensitivity of his own prostate, and he'd actually ended up hurting himself and/or Jean a few times with his violent reactions. He'd once arched right off the side of the bed, giving himself a concussion when he hit his head on the bedside table on the way down to the floor. Another time he'd broken Jean's nose by accidentally headbutting him. Needless to say, Jean had learned to be cautious when it came to Marco and his prostate.

Marco adjusted his position, one of his hands coming to rest against Jean's chest, the other on the floor to steady him as he bounced in Jean's lap. To anyone who might have the misfortune of walking past the van, it would probably sound like someone was getting murdered inside, what with the way Marco was moaning and screaming. But that was why Jean had chosen this particular place; No one came around the area late at night, a requirement if he and Marco were going to fuck in public. It didn't matter where he was, Marco was a screamer.

Marco's hand rested right over Jean's heart, and he could feel the beat, feel how hard, how fast it was. That was enough to tell him that Jean was getting close, but it was made official when one of his hands found the one Marco had on the ground, lacing their fingers. It was a quirk of Jean's, one that Marco had questioned a few times before. But Jean's stubborn pride wouldn't allow him to admit that he liked holding hands when he came, so Marco let it go, opting to smile to himself and indulge his boyfriend.

Jean came first, his fingers tightening around Marco's, not tight enough that there was any fear of broken bones, but tight enough that Marco's fingers could barely bend. Marco followed, the feeling of being filled enough to send him over the edge too. As per usual, he promptly collapsed against Jean's chest, panting, his thighs trembling from his orgasm and the effort of the position. Jean wrapped his arms around his love, one finding its way into dark hair, carding through the short locks as they both caught their breath.

Separating was an awkward affair, both of them feeling sluggish and like their limbs were too long for their bodies. Eventually Jean got frustrated, tossing open the back door of the van and stumbling outside, naked as the day he was born. Marco hissed at him to come back inside, but he reaped no reward, Jean stubbornly shaking his head. If it weren't for the lanky body, he could have looked like a child.

"There's no one out here babe. Chill your shit." Jean called, walking away from the open doors. Marco groaned, not knowing what he could do. Jean shouldn't be walking around naked, but by the time Marco could get clothes on, Jean would probably already have done something stupid. He weighed his options, and decided that retrieving Jean was the top priority. So, after quickly looking all around to make sure that there was, indeed, no one around, he too jumped out of the van. He looked for Jean, trying in vain to cover himself, and spotted him near the edge of the pinnacle. He raced in that direction, but Jean must have heard him coming, because he lunged forward, leaping right off the side of the small cliff. Marco stared in horror.

"Shit, JEAN!" He screamed. Since when was Jean suicidal? He sped up, why he didn't know. It wasn't as if he could catch him. But he halted when he heard a splash. Not a crunch or a splat, a _splash. _He groaned, coming to the edge and looking down. Sure enough, there was a small river, and a Jean currently surfacing for air. He breathed a sigh of relief, but then quickly frowned.

"You could have told me there was a river, asshole!" He yelled down, and he could practically see the smirk on his boyfriend's face, though he was too far down for him to really see it.

"What, didja think I was suicidal? Get your freckled ass down here!" Jean called back. Marco rolled his eyes.

"Not happening." He replied, turning on his heel and going back to the van. He'd left the back doors open, so he went around to close them, grabbing his clothes, planning on getting into the front seat to wait for Jean. It would be easier to get dressed outside. He didn't get the chance though, for as soon as he'd closed the doors and come around the side of the van, he was grabbed around the middle and hefted up. Jean groaned under his weight, and actually dropped him when Marco began struggling, letting his clothes fall to the ground.

"Don't you dare, you-" He was cut off as Jean began dragging him by the arm, Marco unable to get his footing before he was dragged to the edge of the cliff. Jean let him go, and he tried to use the chance to escape, but Jean tackled him, sending them both over the edge. Marco screamed as he went down, regretting it when he hit the water without a breath. He surfaced quickly, gasping. Then began the search for Jean, because he was going to MURDER him. But Jean was using the dark to his advantage, obviously moving slowly to mask his sound. Marco flicked his head around frantically, unable to find his boyfriend. He actually started to worry.

"Jean, I swear to god, I will-" His words became a muffled yelp as he felt arms around his middle, pulling him underneath the water. When he was allowed to surface, he spun around, smacking the back of a laughing Jean's head. "Asshole!" He snapped, only earning a few more laughs.

"Sorry babe, couldn't resist! You sounded a little panicked at the end there, were you worried?" He asked, pulling Marco closer to the cliff, where the water was shallower. Once they were to a point where they could stand, only submerged below the hips, he wrapped his arms about his boyfriend's waist, resting his cheek against Marco's back.

"Of course I was worried, I couldn't find you!" He snapped, leaning into the affection regardless. Jean laughed, kissing the wet skin before him.

"Just remember, I'm a fucking fish." He said, and Marco shook his head. Jean had the feeling he was fighting down a smile.

"Yeah, for about five minutes, and then you start cramping up, or just get tired, and you totally sink." Marco reminded, turning around to face the other teen. He wrapped his arms around boney shoulders, pulling his lover in for a kiss. Jean smiled.

"Well, I've always got you there to rescue me. You're like my personal lifeguard." Jean decided, earning a scoff.

"It's a hell of a job too..." He grumbled.

They messed around in the water for a bit after that; They were already wet, why not? They sat on the bank to dry off, then headed up for the Van. But Jean didn't get in or start it up, instead retrieving his clothes from the back and putting his pants on. Marco picked up his dropped clothing as well, slipping it on quickly. He decided to forgo the shirt too, since Jean had. It was a pretty warm night, anyway. He was reaching for the passenger door, but Jean's hand stopped him, and Marco looked over, inquisitive.

"Let's sleep out here." Jean suggested. Marco quirked a brow. Sleeping outside wasn't always the best experience, but Jean looked like he was about to break out the trademark pout, so Marco reluctantly agreed, grabbing the spare blanket from the van. It was a garish, blood-red disaster that Jean had bought thinking it would match the _blue _décor of their room. Suffice to say, Marco was in charce of interior design for their apartment. He went to spread it out closer to the cliff, since there was a better view of the moon, not noticing that Jean didn't follow. When he finally did realise that his boyfriend was missing, he turned to find him heading over at last, his acoustic in hand. Marco smiled to himself, knowing he was in for a treat, and got comfortable on the blanket, making sure there was room for Jean.

Once he'd gotten settled, Jean tuned for a second, then began strumming out a melody. Marco knew the song immediately, and smiled, because it was one of his favorites. Even though Jean had made fun of him for liking such a girly, unmetal-as-possible song, he'd gone to the trouble to learn it. Marco though he was going to be singing, but Jean opened his mouth instead, letting the lyrics fall from his lips. Jean wasn't a fantastic singer, but he wasn't terrible either, and Marco had always loved to listen to him.

_I don't like to be alone in the night  
And I don't like to hear I'm wrong when I'm right  
And I don't like to have the rain on my shoes  
But I do love you, but I do love you_

_I don't like to see the sky painted gray  
And I don't like when nothing's going my way  
And I don't like to be the one with the blues  
But I do love you, but I do love you_

Marco decided to join him. Their voices were just a little different, but they didn't create dissonance, so the sound was nice. They finished out the song, then Jean went straight into the next one. Marco didn't know it, so couldn't sing it, but nor did Jean, apparently only wanting some background music.

"Marco?" He prompted, and Marco hummed to show he was listening. "Just wanted you to know. I love you." He said, returning his attention to his guitar. Marco smiled, gently pulling the instrument from his boyfriend's hands, setting it aside to kiss him instead, hands drawing the smaller into his frame, Jean's hands resting on the exposed chest before him. But before it could get heated, Marco pulled away, yawning heavily. Jean laughed, pulling the tan boy down to lay next to him, letting him rest his head against one of his arms.

"I love you too." Marco replied sleepily, cuddling closer and draping an arm over Jean's waist, the other curled between them. He received one more kiss before he fell asleep, warm from the heat of Jean's body. Jean, on the other hand, was awake about thirty minutes longer, using the moonlight to count as many freckles as he could before his eyes slid shut, crickets and frogs lulling him to sleep, his nose buried in dark chocolate colored bangs. Sleeping outside had been a great idea.

-.-.-+-.-.-

Sleeping outside had been a terrible idea. About four hours after falling asleep, the sky opened up and dumped a load of rain on their sorry asses, and they had to scramble back into the van, Jean's guitar at risk of destruction. Luckily no significant amount of water made it inside, so a wipe down with a shirt sufficed. But they did have to drive home at about four in the morning, bleary eyed, wet, and dreading the day of school already. Marco put on a pot of coffee as soon as they managed to stumble into their apartment.

A/N: I know it's kind of cheating, but this prompt was basically identical to a previous one, the only difference being the NSFW content. So I just added on to it. Aren't I just terrible? Well, I hope you're satisfied with the extension, and don't worry, you got about the same amount of content. Don't look at me like that!  
And I cheated again! I'm using this as the theme fill for 'Red' and for 'Music.' There was totally music, and the blanket was red. I just don't have the time to take it further than that, and I'm sorry for that. But trying to work every day, plus fill prompts? It's a tough balance. Just one more day though! And I've got a prompt that I can probably twist to fit the theme. I am a master cheater!

Speaking of songs, I forgot to mention, the song at the beginning was 'More Than Words' by Extreme. The second one is "But I Do Love You" by LeAnn Rimes. I chose lame songs. I know. But I listen to mostly foreign music, and I didn't think it would make a lot of sense for Jean to be singing to Marco in Finnish or Japanese. So I just used sweet songs that my mom used to sing to me when I was little. Credit where credit is due.  
Alright, off I go! Thank you for the prompt, and I hope it was NSFW enough to satisfy you! Happy JeanMarco week! One day more! Wish me luck!


	6. Strumming

Prompt: based on a french canadian song called ''Jeremy guitar'': Jean find a guitar in the ruin of an incendied house. Craved on its back, it say ''Marco guitar''. He takes it and when he try to play it, the guitar make the sweetest melody no mather what, just by itslef or as if someone else is playing it... Jean start to become famous with the guitar, but one night in a bar, it gets stolen by a mysterious apparition... The apparition is of course Marco, dead, alive, ghost, I let you chose.

It was pretty pathetic, if Jean was being honest with himself. What had possessed him to walk out of his home, nothing but a spare set of clothes and a decrepit guitar slung over his back, and never look back, he'd never know. Well, alright, it might have something to do with his asshole father, who seemed to think it was perfectly acceptable to be heavily inebriated at any given time of day, to toss heavy glass bottles at people (namely Jean) with abandon, to throw a punch or two. Jean understood; it was hard to cope with the loss of his wife, Jean's mother. But that was no excuse for his behavior, and Jean wanted nothing to do with the shell of a man anymore.

If Jean was being selfish, he could attest that he had it even harder. He'd lost his best friend just two months after his mother. It was a surprise, one nobody was ready for. Marco was the last person anyone expected to die, especially so young. He was such a bright, cheery individual. He'd always had hope, a stupid amount of it. He believed in people, in their futures, in his future. But he didn't get one; A mystery car took it away. The police assumed the driver had been drunk. It was another of the many reasons that Jean hated his father; He'd been out driving the night Marco died. There was no proof, and no real reason for his suspicions, but Jean had convinced himself that his father was to blame.

The guitar on his back was Marco's. The boy's parents had given it to him, something of a parting gift. It made sense; Marco and Jean had considered starting a band together. Well, a traveling duo would be a more appropriate title. Marco on guitar, Jean singing. They'd spent many a weekend just sitting together, Marco strumming gently, Jean stumbling over lyrics, both of them tossing back a few hundred cans of off-brand soda. But those were good times, fun times, and Jean remembered them fondly. Now there was only one. It was just Jean with a guitar he didn't know how to play, but couldn't part with, and a wallet full of as much cash as he could find in the house. It wasn't enough for a room. The only thing he could really buy would be a round, a chance to drown his sorrows. But he was too wary of alcohol for that to really be an option.

So, instead, he found himself a nice park, claimed a bench, and curled in on himself to try and catch a little sleep. He was far enough away from home that his dad wouldn't be able to find him, even if he bothered looking. Not that he would. He probably wouldn't even notice Jean had gone until he decided he needed someone to scream at, and found his favorite son was nowhere to be found. It was warm enough, even in the night, that he didn't shiver, but he subconsciously reached for non-existent blankets a few times, sighing when he remembered that he was outside, sleeping on a bench like a homeless loser. He _was _a homeless loser.

He spent about a week in a similar state, walking further and further away from his home every day, sleeping on a different bench every night. Looking back on it, it had been a stupid idea in the first place; How was he going to survive? His money was quickly waning, his stomach still growling even after being fed. He had no job, no real skills, no friends to call on in his time of need. Marco was his only real friend, the rest of his so-called friends really only sufficing as acquaintances, no one he could mooch off of.

He'd steal glances at the guitar case, honestly just a hindrance at that point. He'd considered selling it for a few bucks, since the thing was older than Marco himself, and wouldn't fetch much of a price. But even if it would, Jean knew he'd never sell it. It was all he had left of his only friend, and he was too sentimental about it to part with it. So he continued to lug it around, sometimes cuddling against it while he slept. It wasn't a particularly cuddly object, but it reminded him of Marco, of the way the teen would laugh when the woke up, limbs tangled. Jean tended to cling in his sleep, but Marco had always taken it with good humor.

One day, when he was literally down to a couple of dollars to feed himself, he wondered if he couldn't _learn_ to play the guitar. Marco had taught himself to play, after all, so why couldn't Jean? If he could just pick out a couple of melodies, then maybe he'd be able to get a few dollars to eat with. That in mind, he unlatched the case, taking the beat up guitar out for the first time since it had been given to him. A wave of nostalgia hit as his eyes wandered over the instrument. So many of his happy memories were associated with the hunk of wood and wire, it was hard not to think of Marco's fingers deftly strumming out chords, smiling softly while Jean sang along. He turned the body over, running his eyes, then his fingers, over the name carved shallowly into the wood. M-A-R-C-O, all in capital letters, a little sloppy. He'd done it with a pocket knife he'd nabbed from his father, when he was still very young and could barely play twinkle twinkle little star.

It brought tears to his eyes, but he bit them back, only one escaping that was hastily wiped away by a filthy sleeve. He brought the guitar to his chest, like Marco used to, making sure no one was around to hear his first attempt. He knew it couldn't be good, since he'd never really played a guitar, and he didn't need the embarrassment. Thankfully no one was anywhere near him, so he let his thumb run over the strings over the sound hole. It wasn't anything fantastic, but at least he didn't break a string or anything.

And the gentle hum of the instrument sent a wave of familiarity through his body.

He tried to recall what Marco's fingers had looked like while he played, and he tried to mimic it. But none of his chords sounded right, leading him to believe he was getting the finger positions wrong. He growled in frustration, having to force himself not to shove the instrument away from himself. Instead he leaned over it, letting his weight rest against the wood as he fought to hold back angry tears. If he couldn't figure this out, what was he going to do? He'd die if he didn't eat, and he had too much pride to beg. He hated to admit it, but he was beginning to consider returning home. Regardless of how much of an asshole his father was, at least there was always food to be had. Not to mention a warm bed. Summer was slowly waning into fall, the nights getting a bit chilly. Jean knew he couldn't continue to sleep outside when it got cold; He had to figure something out, and soon.

He was surprised when he heard someone speak.

"Will you play something for me?" He looked up. It was a blonde girl, very, very pretty, big blue eyes shining, even in the waning sunlight. She was petite and short, just barely taller than Jean while he was sitting. Looking past her, there was another girl, this one tall with dark hair, and freckles. His throat tightened at the sight, reminding him of Marco, the way he'd been covered, literally head to toe, in freckles. But the blonde had asked him something, and it was rude not to reply.

"I-I uh, I don't really know how to play." He admitted, looking away from her in shame. But her smile didn't falter.

"That's alright. You wouldn't have it if it wasn't important to you, right? Anything will do." She assured, and he looked down at the guitar, sighing. Even if his playing was abysmal, he could at least set a beat and sing something for her. He cleared his throat, and began plucking at the strings, able to grab the first few notes of a song he was familiar with. To distract from his poor playing, he opened his mouth, singing the first few verses. It was only then that he noticed that his playing had gotten a lot better, the notes actually sounding right, even his chords came out smoothly. But he wasn't playing chords. He was confused, but ignored the thought in favor of finishing his song. He let the lyrics finish him off, strumming a few more times before letting the music die off.

When he looked up, the girl was smiling, and she even clapped for him.

"I thought you said you couldn't play." She said coyly. He blinked owlishly, nodding.

"I-I can't." He agreed.

"Well, that was pretty good, especially for someone who can't play." She laughed, taking her purse off of her shoulder and fishing around for a while.

"Christa..." The woman behind her groaned. Christa only smiled, finally pulling a long wallet out of the bag. Jean was surprised. He actually hadn't thought he'd get a tip out of it, but he knew he couldn't afford to say no to a couple of dollars. He could, however, say no to a twenty dollar bill.

"Mam, I can't..." He began, but she took the hand he'd been using to refuse the money, quickly shoving the bill into it and letting go. Jean went to give it back, but she'd already turned on her heel, and was walking away.

"Keep practicing." She called. He stared after her stupidly, unable to think rationally enough to chase after her. And hell, he needed the money. It took a hit at his pride, but he slipped it into his wallet, vowing to buy himself something to eat in the morning. He was too tired at the moment to walk over to a store. Instead, he got comfortable again, looking at the guitar on his lap with a bit of awe. He'd been playing it, really _playing _it. But he didn't know how to play it. He picked it up again, strumming over the strings, trying out a chord. Nope, he was still clueless. How had he managed that whole song? He opted to leave that mystery for another day, putting the instrument away and catching some sleep.

The twenty bought him a decent meal the next day, one that had him feeling like, maybe, there was some hope left in the world. He spent the day getting further from home, like he always did, until the day began to turn to night, reds and oranges dyeing the sky. As per usual, he located a park, choosing an old fountain, not running water at the moment, to sleep on. It had a broad ledge that he could easily lay himself out on. He eyed the guitar case, warily at first. He knew the twenty wasn't going to last him very long, and he'd need money again soon. Would it work, could he play again? He decided to try, taking the guitar out while thinking of another song he knew well. He found one, and began strumming. It was crummy, but when he started to sing along, it suddenly improved, his fingers somehow knowing which strings to push down. It hurt, he realised, his fingers unaccustomed to the strings.

Marco used to have thick callouses on his fingers from playing, the tough skin protecting him from being in too much pain while he played. But Jean's fingers felt like they would be cut raw by the sharp strings. Still, he couldn't stop, so he finished the song, singing to himself, holding back sniffles as he remembered it as being one of Marco's favorites. The strain of the sadness added a nice raspy quality to his voice though, which suited the song.

He didn't even realise he'd gathered an audience until he heard them clapping as he finished the song. It was all a whirlwind, people commenting on his talent, several ones being tossed into the empty case next to him, some people asking him to play something else. He didn't know what else to do. He couldn't tell them that he didn't know how, because, apparently, he did. It felt like he was pushing it though. Because he _didn't _actually know. Something was happening, something he couldn't explain. And he felt fortunate that it had happened twice, let alone at all. Would it work a third time?

What did he have to lose? He started with lyrics this time, adding the music a line or two in. To his amazement, the chords came out correctly, yet again, and he was able to get through the song. More tips were tossed into the case, and the crowd dispersed, for it was getting late. Though a couple lingered for one more song, which he tried to get through quickly. When he was alone, he pulled the strap over his head, looking at the instrument at length.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It was just polished wood, chipped in places, scratched in others, worn from use. If he was being honest, he'd say the old thing looked like it was about to kick the bucket. There was nothing supernatural about it, nothing that would explain his ability to play without learning. The only thing he could chalk it up to was desperation on his part. Maybe he was just so in need of money that his body remembered Marco's positions for him, remembered somewhere deep in the muscle how to get by.

He shrugged, collecting the dollars that littered the case and straightening them out. He'd earned a whopping twenty-seven dollars. That was actually a lot, all things considered. He couldn't help but smile softly as he shoved them into his wallet, thankful that he'd be able to eat for about a week, since he still had about ten left from the blonde, Christa, the day before. Maybe, if this ability to play was permanent, he could make enough to start renting a motel room on occasion. If that was a goal, he'd have to start going to places that people frequented, like downtown areas. But he wanted to test it again before he made that leap. Because, who knew, maybe he wouldn't be able to do it the next day.

But he was, and the day after that, and after that as well. No matter how abysmal he was when he just tried to play the guitar, as soon as he started singing, the guitar would do the rest, almost pulling his fingers along like magnets, taking them to the right chords. One or twice he'd swear he could feel fingers over his, guiding him to the right strings, hastily correcting him if he tried strumming the wrong note.

At some point, he decided that it wasn't his body that was helping him, but rather Marco's spirit. How else could he explain it, really? And it made a lot of sense, at least to him. Marco was the type of friend that was always there for you, and it was actually pretty likely that his spirit would help Jean along even after death. That's the kind of guy Marco was. Jean tried to ignore the idea of it at first, but the more time he spent with the instrument, the more he believed his theory to be true.

He always felt wrapped up in security when he had the guitar, felt like nothing could go wrong, so long as he had it. That's how Marco used to make him feel; Safe, hopeful. And he began noticing that he played with Marco's little quirks. The boy had always tapped his foot while he was playing, something that drove Jean insane most of the time. But now he couldn't stop his foot, no matter how hard he glared at it. And, even though he'd bought himself a pick after he'd given into the idea of using the guitar to get by, he never used it after his initial attempt. It didn't feel right. For the most part, he preferred to use his fingers, even though he would be left regretting it later, as, indeed, his fingers would start bleeding. (Though he had begun to develop some callouses of his own.) If he did have to use a pick, he'd grab a coin from his pocket instead. He'd always wondered why Marco did it, but it felt a lot better in his fingers than a flimsy little pick. He had a new respect for Marco's love of finger strumming.

But the first time he caught himself talking to the guitar was when he finally gave in and fully believed. Marco's spirit was definitely haunting the instrument. It was actually more comforting than creepy; It felt like he had a companion by his side, his favorite companion. And even though Marco couldn't talk to him, he could almost feel the presence, could almost feel the answers to his questions, could almost hear the laughter of his lost friend. It felt right, every time he played, felt like all of those times spent in Marco's garage on a beat up old couch, wasting hours together with a mutual love for music.

And it was working. Jean made enough on a daily basis that he could start sleeping in a motel room at night. Just in time too, because it began getting chilly a lot sooner than he'd anticipated. Thankfully people seemed more generous during the holiday season, a couple of fives making their way into the tips along with the ones. And one day, he got incredibly lucky. Someone from a local club happened by, and was quick to demand he come play at the club. Jean was reluctant at first, but the promised paycheck changed his mind almost as quickly as it had been made up.

The club scene was different than what he was used to, but it reaped better rewards. After a couple of nights, he had enough to invest in a shitty car for himself. He had to sleep in said shitty car for a while, since basically all of his funds had been put into it, but that was alright, he'd been in worse situations. At least it had heat, and he could almost spread all the way out.

Thanks to the owner of the club, he managed to get a few other offers, one leading to another. There was enough for him to start renting rooms again, to build up a small wardrobe for the cold season. His improved appearance got him better offers, and almost too fast, he had enough to get himself an apartment. By that time, he was nowhere near his old home, and it seemed safe enough, so he found a couple of guys that were looking for a homo-friendly roommate to replace a sister that had moved away. They were nice enough. Well, the blonde one, Armin, was. Jaeger on the other hand... He and Jean didn't always get along. But he'd learned to pick his battles, and life with the two became easy.

But, the more comfortable he got, the worse his playing seemed to get. It didn't bother him as much as he thought it should. He'd been expecting it, honestly; The playing wasn't his own. It wouldn't be fair if he could get famous without the effort. It was exactly the kind of thing Marco would do; help him as long as he _needed _the help, but insist he get back up on his feet. And so he went out and sought a job. It wasn't going well at first, rejection after rejection coming his way. His playing improved a little to supplement it, but finally he got himself a position with a cafe. It was small, losing a lot of its business to Starbucks, but the owners were holding on. It was a good place for Jean. The pay was enough for him to pay his part of the bills and rent, but it didn't allow for much else.

So, of course, he got a little selfish. He agreed to play at a club, the first time he'd accepted in a few months. He'd been nervous, but, to his surprise, he played pretty well. Maybe he'd been wrong about the guitar not working anymore; Maybe it was just a lull. Maybe it was tired. He frowned as he thought that. Not _it_, Marco. He put the thought from his mind, setting the guitar down backstage to go and grab his cut of the earnings. On the way back, some stranger asked him to dance. Normally he'd decline, especially with the guitar laying out in the back. But he felt he'd earned it, and he agreed, following them out to the dance floor and dancing for a couple of hours, switching between partners a few times until he got bored. Of course, between dancing and strangers, quite a few drinks were involved, and he couldn't bring himself to say no. He nearly walked out without retrieving his instrument in his alcohol haze, but remembered last minute and scrambled to put it away.

When he pulled the curtain aside to get to the backstage area, his heart sank, then rose again, pounding with anger. Someone was touching his guitar, had picked it up, was holding it. He growled, stomping over.

"What the hell do you think you're do..." He trailed off at the end, his eyes wide with surprise when the person who was holding the instrument turned to look at him. All of it rushed into his senses at once, the dark hair, the sun-kissed skin, the round hazelnut colored eyes, the endless freckles, all translucent, almost not there. He stumbled backwards as the familiarity hit him.

"M-Marco?" He stammered. The other only frowned at him, his expression disappointed, then he was gone, guitar and all. Jean blinked, searching for where he could have gone. But no, there was nowhere. He'd just vanished. Jean's eyes watered without him even noticing, only paying attention when he realised just how wet his cheeks were. He looked around in hopes of finding Marco somewhere, of finding the guitar at least. But he came up empty handed, driving home with only the empty case.

He was miserable after that, almost getting fired from his cafe job. He got his shit together though, and started taking life a lot more seriously. Marco had been right to confiscate the instrument. Jean was using it for personal gain beyond necessity, not even for the love of music. He'd begun to take it for granted, something he'd promised himself, had promised Marco that he'd never do. He couldn't find it in himself to be angry or bitter about it. All he felt was emptiness, melancholy. Now that it was gone, he felt like he'd lost Marco all over again. It was a heavy blow, one that left him crying into his pillow many a night, even earning him pity from his roommates.

He somehow got a promotion at work, his pay going up enough for him to start living comfortably, no strain financially. He wasn't able to go out and buy whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, but it was plenty for him to get by. And living with Eren and Armin was nice, he decided. They were both, in their own special ways, very supportive. He learned to call them friends. Even Jaeger. And through them, he made quite a few more. For the first time in a very long time, he allowed himself to get close to people. No one compared to Marco, of course, but he wasn't alone, at least.

One night, they had everyone over at the apartment, sharing a couple of bottles of cheap booze, watching bad HBO movies, just talking and laughing together. And then it somehow came up that Jean used to play. He forgot who mentioned it, Eren or Armin, but there was immediately a demand for him to play something. He informed them regretfully that his guitar had been stolen at his last appearance, and that he couldn't play without an instrument. It was Sasha that had pointed out the case leaning against the wall. Jean sighed, telling them it was empty, but they were having none of that.

"If you don't believe me, then go look for yourself. There's nothing inside." He snapped, making a shooing motion. Connie got up and went over to the case, undoing the latches. Jean closed his eyes, hating to see the vacancy of the case. But he didn't hear the chorus of 'aww' that he thought he would.

"Dude, quit lying, it's right here!" Connie shouted, and Jean's head snapped in that direction, his eyes falling upon a beat up guitar, cushioned gently by the case. The not-empty case.

He was on his feet in no time, shoving Connie out of the way as he eyed the polish wood, going over the scratches, making sure each was where it should be, and they were all accounted for. He tentatively took it out, flipping it over to look on the back. There were the letters. M-A-R-C-O. He could feel the sting in his eyes, his heart racing despite his disbelief, his confusion. But now the gathering of friends were badgering him even more. He frowned, looking down at the instrument, almost as if asking it, "is it okay?"

He came to the couch, sitting down next to Armin, who scooted over to accommodate the size of the guitar. His fingers strummed over the strings wistfully, and the familiar hum of the notes had him biting his lip to keep his emotions at bay. Would it work? Or would he be left looking like a fool? It didn't really mater, he decided, as he sang a few verses, bringing out the first chord. And then the next, and the next, and the next, and he was playing. It was music to his ears, literally, and he sighed a bit with relief, finishing the song. Everyone clapped, asked for more, but he declined, claiming he was out of practise. After everyone had gone home, and Armin had dragged Eren off to bed, Jean remained on the couch, the guitar next to him, resting against the plush. He couldn't take his eyes away from it.

"Marco?" He called quietly. Nothing happened. At least, not at first. But the more he blinked, the more it looked like there was a bit of smoke around the guitar, until, finally, there he was, sitting in the same spot, his arms draped lazily over his old instrument. He offered Jean a soft smile, but received only a choked sob in return. He was right; It had been Marco all the time, helping him get back on his feet, and showing him right from wrong when he needed reminding. He watched a transparent arm reach out, as if to touch him, but it hesitated, withdrew. And when Jean tried to grab at it, he was met with no purchase. He couldn't feel the skin, only cold. His sobs persisted.

"I-I'm sorry." He sputtered. Marco quirked his head to the side, as if to ask "why?"

"I'm sorry that you died, and I'm sorry that it was probably my dad's fault, and I'm sorry that you died alone, I'm sorry for not being there." He explained. Marco's expression hardened, something like a grimace.

"I know that's exactly what you were most scared of, and I wish I was there for you, with you. I wish it had been me instead." He admitted. This time Marco scowled, shaking his head. Jean just ignored it.

"And I'm sorry that I used you. I know I was wrong, and I know why you went away." This earned him a small smile, and a nod. 'All is forgiven.' He paused to swallow, to think.

"Thank you." He finally managed, the smile growing slowly. "Thank you for being there for me, even after all of this. And thank you for coming back, even though I'm an undeserving asshole." He finished. Marco's translucent frame shook with laughter, the strings of the guitar vibrating just a bit, producing a small hum as if to supplement the lack of sound that should be pouring from Marco's lips. When he'd finished laughing, he looked over, a smile etched onto his features as he looked Jean's way, fondness radiating off of him. They just stared for what seemed like eternity, then Marco stood, leaving the guitar in his wake, and took the few steps over to Jean, looking down. Jean looked up, unable to speak, only watch as Marco leaned down. He felt a chill along the side of his face, knowing that Marco had kissed his cheek. But when he turned to look, the boy was gone. He would have been sad, but he heard a twang from the guitar, and he looked over, the string still vibrating. He smiled then, picking the guitar up and heading to his room. He leaned it against the wall, crawling into bed. Sleep seemed to be weighing down on his mind, yet he couldn't look away from the instrument, not until he felt the bed shift just a little, as if someone had sat down next to him. And he felt a coolness against his scalp, sighing as his mind pictured Marco, carding his fingers through the light hair at the top of Jean's head. It had always put him right to sleep, and it worked like a charm, his mind going blank before it went black, a simple guitar riff echoing in his mind.

A/N: And that's a wrap! JeanMarco week is over! This is already a day late, but hei, better late than never! I would have had it out earlier, but I was hit, literally overnight, with illness, and I've been in bed pretty much all day. I dragged my ass out to get this done though. Alas, there is no rest for the weary. I need to work on getting a chapter of both of my current chaptered fics out. Wish me luck.  
I kind of played with the prompt a bit, and sorry that it's not exactly spot on. I've never heard the song, and I couldn't find it to take a listen. I have trouble not bending rules that people give me though. But I think I got the gist of the prompt in there, didn't I? Well, regardless, I hope you liked it!  
Prompts are now CLOSED! I've got much catching up to do! I might open them again some time in the future, but not any time soon!  
This is my theme fill for "Struggle," which means I got them all in, though I definitely cheated. But shhh, I won't tell if you don't. Thanks for reading, and I hope everyone was as emotionally destroyed by JeanMarco week as I was. See you next year!


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